


Return to the North

by silmarilz1701



Series: The Fëanoriel Chronicles [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angmar, Arnor, F/M, Feanorian, Feanoriel Chronicles Series, Fourth Age, Glittering Caves, Gondor, Ithilien, Lothlórien, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Post-Lord of the Rings, Post-War of the Ring, Reunited Kingdom, Rohan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 48
Words: 54,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarilz1701/pseuds/silmarilz1701
Summary: 35 years after the War of the Ring, the children of the heroes must go on their own quest to save Middle Earth yet again, but this time it's from one of their own. Follow the children of Miril (OC- the Other Ranger) and Elrohir, Aragorn and Arwen, Eowyn and Faramir, and Eomer and Lothiriel as they journey from Rohan and Gondor back to the North where dark forces are gathering for a new assault. Cousins and friends unite as they travel through a different Middle Earth now that the rings are gone.And no one comes out unscathed. See Middle Earth like never before as we explore the beginnings of the Fourth Age when Lothlorien is abandoned, Rivendell is mostly empty, the Reunited Kingdom is strong, Annuminas rebuilt, the Ents are in control of Isengard, and Harad is at peace with Gondor/Arnor. Even Moria isn't the same.Sequel to The Other Ranger, but easily standalone.





	1. Prologue: Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I'm Silz! This is a story set 35 years after The Other Ranger (Year 35 FoA), my large LotR adventure fic. The only thing I've really changed from the book in terms of canon is timelines. Eldarion is born in Year 1 of the Forth Age to make things simpler between stories. Also, Elrohir is married to an OC named Miril (Halbarad's adopted daughter, descendant of Feanor through Caranthir). Read the other story for more information on that.
> 
> This is going to be an adventure fic plain and simple. I don't plan any major romances, I don't plan any major angst. There will be good versus evil. There will be abundant OCs. There will be development of characters that Master Tolkien never developed such as Eldarion, Elboron, Elfwine, and the unnamed daughters of Aragorn whom I have named. For information on the OCs mentioned in this fic, see my profile on FFN.
> 
> So please, sit back, read, review, enjoy. Drop me a PM with any questions and I will do my best to answer them.
> 
> Silz

 

She was hopelessly lost in the depths of the cold, dark pine woods. The fine cut on her cheek was bleeding down her face, staining her pale skin scarlet. Whipping her head from side to side, she sent her silver hair flying. She panted as at last she came to a halt after hours of running.

She released a piercing scream in anger and frustration, falling to her knees slamming her sword into the ground, sending wood chips and pine needles flying. She had gotten herself into this, she herself and no one else. But she wanted to place the blame on someone else.

"If Mother and Father trusted me, I wouldn't have had to go off and join the Northern rangers myself," she muttered, finally regaining control of her anger.

As the silver haired young woman stood once more, she tried to more calmly look at her surroundings. She knew she was somewhere north of Lake Evendim. Her company was nowhere to be seen. They had been scouting north of the lake, looking for a new place to set up a village. But then there had been orcs, and wargs, and in the night she had become separated.

After several moments of taking in her surroundings, she decided it was time to get moving. The wargs that had been chasing her were nowhere to be seen. Without a dark Lord or evil master to serve, they had declined to acting more like ordinary wolves, hunting not for sport but for food. She must've been far too much trouble to keep pursuing. After all, she had picked off two of the five long before running.

Picking a direction, she began to walk forward carefully. The sun was high in the sky and offered very little indication for which direction she had chosen. She knew she couldn't simply backtrack; she had done much twisting and turning during her flight.

After a while she sheathed her sword and calmed down. She was fine. She was one of the better trackers of the Northern Dunedain. Bergil said it was because of her mother. It was _always_ because of her mother, or father. Never because _she_ had worked hard at it. She liked her uncle, he treated her best. But even he fell victim to praising her parentage and not her hard work sometimes.

Her green cloak snagged on a tree branch as she walked and she cursed, trying to untangle it. They'd always said her anger issues came from her mother's side as well. She didn't mind that explanation.

She tried to control her fiery spirit, really she did. But she always felt like a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to release all its power and energy at one moment, only to be restrung and ready to release another arrow after the first. It had caused confrontation with her family and friends, to the point where she decided to leave for the North as soon as she was old enough. It had been four years since she'd been back in Minas Tirith. She didn't miss it.

The only person she truly missed was her older brother. He had cared for her, loved her like no one else. While mother and father were off protecting the king, or busy with matters of state, her brother had trained her to protect herself despite their age difference. That was why she continued to send him messages every so often.

Suddenly she halted. She sensed something was near. Scuttling up a tree with low branches, she perched like a squirrel and watched below her. A man in a black and orange robe was not far ahead. He was resetting rabbit traps, it looked like. She gave a gasp when he looked up, straight at her.

"Come down, young one," he said with a half smile. "Are you lost?"

She scrambled down the tree carefully and approached him. "Slightly."

"What's your name?" He finished resetting his current trap and straightened up.

The silver-haired woman frowned but for some reason, decided to trust the mysterious man. "I am Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel, third daughter of Lady Míril and Lord Elrohir, niece of King Elessar and Queen Arwen, Ranger of the North."

"Well Lady Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel, follow me and we can get you home. But first I need to stop at home." The old man had a glint in his eye that slightly unsettled Tinneth, but she paid it no mind.

"What is your name?" Tinneth asked the man. "Where do you live?"

"I am Dúnir. I live in a little old house in the snow."


	2. Summonings

Two redheaded women trotted up the path to Minas Tirith atop beautiful brown horses. Clothed in greens and browns with matching yew bows on their backs, they looked identical. Their fair young faces were covered in matching confused expressions.

"And Father and Mother said nothing but to come back upon the King's summons?" one asked the other.

The woman on the left shook her head. "I showed you the letter. You read it yourself."

"It's just so odd," murmured the first.

As they crossed over the threshold of the gates, they were met by a man with dark hair and grey eyes. He nodded to them and smiled a tight smile.

"Hail, friends! Fëalas, Círeth, my father waits for us in the citadel along with the others."

"How have things been here, Eldarion?" The first, Fëalas, asked.

He shrugged. "Well enough. Aderthon and I have been training new recruits for the Guard as of late."

Círeth smiled. "I'd like to see our brother fight you someday, Eldarion. That would be quite a match!"

"I'd be more afraid of fighting Finduilas," laughed the Prince.

Finduilas was a companion of Círeth and Fëalas, a member of the Southern Dunedain. She was the daughter of Eowyn and Faramir and a fierce shieldmaiden. The twins had left her in charge when they had been called home to Minas Tirith.

"Is Uncle here as well?" Fëalas asked Eldarion as they made their way up into the citadel.

"Ask him yourself."

The twin young women grinned widely as they caught sight of Elladan. Fëalas ran forward and tackled him in a hug. She may have been thirty years old, but she loved her uncle dearly. All the children did.

There were many of them. Miril and Elrohir had four. Aderthon was their only son, but they had three daughters. There were the twins, Círeth and Fëalas, and the youngest, Tinneth. Aragorn and Arwen had one son also, Prince Eldarion. But two daughters they had as well: Amdirien and Estelwen. Faramir and Eowyn had two sons named Elboron and Barahir, as well as Finduilas their daughter. Eomer and Lothiriel had a daughter, Edeva, and a son, Elfwine. All the children were good friends.

"Welcome home," Elladan laughed as Círeth hugged him also. "Your mother and father are with the King and Queen. Follow me."

The friends followed their uncle deeper into the citadel and to the right into a side room where meetings were held. There they found two citadel guards waiting outside the door. They opened it up when they saw the royalty coming towards them.

Aragorn, Arwen, Miril, Elrohir, Amdirien, Aderthon, and Estelwen were all inside already. When Círeth and Fëalas followed Eldarion and Elladan inside, they looked in concern at the faces of their parents and the King and Queen.

"You summoned us, sir?" Círeth asked.

Aragorn nodded. "Sit."

Everyone took their seats. Aderthon came and sat beside his sister Círeth. Fëalas sat between her and their mother. Míril took Fëalas' hand and squeezed it with a small, strained smile.

"What's going on?" Círeth asked in concern, glancing sidelong at the stressed looks of the older adults. "Where is Tinneth? Surely she was summoned home as well if we all were?"

"Tinneth is the reason you are here," Aragorn sighed.

"What has she done now?" Círeth rolled her eyes.

"Cír," Elrohir warned. "Quiet."

Círeth shrunk beneath her father's quiet admonition. Aragorn continued softly.

"There was an assault on a company of Dunedain north of Lake Evendim." He paused. "Círeth was among them."

"Is she alright?" Aderthon demanded immediately. "Where is she? What attacked them?"

Aragorn held up his hand. "All we know is this. A small surviving and roving band of wargs and orcs attacked them. We don't know why or how many. Several rangers were killed. Tinneth is still unaccounted for."

"How long ago did it happen?" asked Eldarion.

Míril responded. "We received the news three days ago. It took almost two months to get here. We do not know if she's been found yet of course."

"So what are we going to do," Eldarion insisted. "We must do something."

"We will wait a few days to see if more news comes," Aragorn told them with a sigh. "If nothing good follows, then we will reevaluate. Until that time, I want all of you to remain in the city."

Aragorn dismissed the group. He left with Arwen and his children and Elladan, leaving the House of Fëanoriel in the room.

"It is good to have you two back home," Míril smiled at her twin daughters. "I've missed you."

"We missed you as well," Fëalas nodded. "And you too, Father."

Elrohir laughed. "No need to say anything just to make me feel better."

"I mean it!" she giggled.

"Come," Míril laughed, grabbing her daughter in a hug. "Let's go home."

The two parents, son, and daughters left the throne room and traveled down the city street to one level below the citadel. Míril and Elrohir had kept the same house they had raised their children in for 35 years. As the family made their way inside, Fëalas stopped and sniffed with her eyes closed.

"Still smells like athelas and niphredil." She grinned. "Wonderful as always."

Míril laughed. "Glad you still enjoy it, Fëalas."

The woman smiled. She looked young, about 20 to normal eyes. But those who knew her understood her elven blood kept her youthful. Her long red hair, the color of autumn, went down her back in an intricate braid.

The fact that Miril and Elrohir's children had such different hair colors was said to be due to their uniquely diverse ancestry. They had Noldorin blood, including a line of red haired elves like Nerdanel, Maedhros, and the twins Amrod and Amras. They had Telerin blood, and therefore silver haired ancestors, like Celeborn, Celebrian, and Thingol. And finally they had dark haired Noldorin blood like Fëanor and Caranthir. Not to mention their Vanyarin ancestry, though none of that rare golden hair had manifested in the House of Fëanoriel so far.

"Do you think Tinneth will be alright?" Aderthon asked quietly later that night.

It was just Míril, Elrohir, and he in the main living room of their house. The twins had gone to bed hours ago after their long day of riding, but the others were not tired yet. Or if they were, they chose not to embrace it.

Míril sighed. "I do not know, Aderthon. I hope she is."

Elrohir smiled. "She will be. I dare say she's even more fierce and feisty than her mother, and that's saying something!"

Míril smirked. "She is, isn't she."

Aderthon let his eyes rest upon the lyre above their fireplace. The crackle of the fire sounded almost like music.

"Mother, why do you not play that anymore?" He asked her quietly. "Not since Tinneth left."

Míril and Elrohir frowned. Elrohir looked about to respond but Míril halted him.

"I told you the story many times as a child of how I got that lyre." Míril sighed. "I told you of your Uncle Maglor, of how he sacrificed himself to save us all."

"Indeed," Aderthon agreed.

Míril nodded slowly. "I suppose I felt I failed him after Tinneth left us. We know she left because she was deeply angry with us."

"it was not only you," Aderthon said with a forlorn sigh. "She was angry with everyone."


	3. Resentment and Admonition

Círeth woke up early the next morning, the sun shining in through her bedroom windows. Across from her on the other bed was her sister. She smacked her twin through a blanket to wake her up.

"Get up, Fëalas," Círeth hissed. "Get up!"

"Why?" muttered the red haired young woman from beneath a pile of blankets.

"I'm going down to the archery range," she replied.

Fëalas threw off her blankets to uncover her face in anger. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Well I don't want to go by _myself_ ," she said, twiddling her fingers as she stood waiting for her twin go agree to go with her. "I think I heard that Elboron was coming today with Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn."

Instantly Fëalas sat up. "Elboron is coming? Here? Today?"

"I heard Uncle say that last night right before bed when you were already asleep." Círeth smirked to herself. All it ever took was mentioning the young man that her sister was infatuated with.

"Alright, alright." Fëalas got up and changed.

As the twins got dressed into their green tunics for training that morning, they hummed an old tune their mother had played for them in Maglor's lyre. It was a lovely little tune.

Together, great yew bows in hand and quivers on their backs, the half elven twin women made their way to one circle lower in Minas Tirith. There they found the large archery range and training facilities for the guards.

"One, two, move your feet! Come on, you are better than that."

They heard the voice of their brother as they rounded a corner. Aderthon and Eldarion were training an adolescent youth. His blonde hair and blue eyes, as well as the sound of his voice, told of who he was.

"Aderthon, I am doing my best!" He protested loudly before landing a blow on Aderthon's sword. "Ergh!"

"Calm down, Elfwine." Eldarion told him. "You do not help matters by getting angry."

Elfwine, the sixteen year old son of Lothiriel and Eomer, nodded in frustration. He took a deep breath.

"Start again."

Círeth whipped out her sword and stepped between the two out of the shadows, surprising all three men. She and Fëalas burst out laughing at the looks on their faces.

"Rangers," Aderthon complained with a twinkle in his eye. "Always sneaking about."

"Better than you soldiers. You are always so easy to spot and pick off one by one," Círeth laughed a response.

"Fëalas, Círeth!" Elfwine smiled. "It is good to see you."

"You also, friend," they bowed their heads.

Círeth continued. "Are your parents in Minas Tirith? Your sister?"

Elfwine nodded. "We came a few days ago."

"What are you two doing this morning?" Eldarion asked them.

Fëalas responded. "Círeth is dragging me to the archery range."

"I did not _drag_ you," Círeth protested instantly. "You came of your own free will."

They all laughed. Eldarion told them that there was someone already using the range but that he was probably willing to share. Saying goodbye to the men, the twins continued on down the street and around the circle until they arrived at the archery location. Indeed they saw a tall man with long blonde hair was shooting arrows with incredible precision.

"Lord Legolas?" Fëalas asked incredulously.

The elf turned around and smiled. "Indeed. My, have you two grown. It's been ten years since I last saw you!"

"What are you doing here, Lord?" Círeth asked him quickly as the women readied their own bows.

"I brought the message regarding your sister. I was visiting Gimli in Aglarond when news reached us and I offered to take it here." Legolas frowned. "Has Aragorn decided what to do yet? He spoke only to me briefly before you two arrived yesterday."

"He told us to wait here for more news for a few days." Fëalas shook her head. "I do not like it, nor do I agree with it."

"Yet he is your king and uncle," Legolas shrugged as he released another arrow. "There is little you can do."

Círeth narrowed her eyes as she released an arrow. "Why should _we_ do anything. Tinneth made it very clear when she left that she did not what our help. That we were to leave her well alone. She doesn't deserve our help."

"Cír," Fëalas gasped. "You always say such horrible things about Tinneth! She's our sister!"

"I can't believe you are _still_ loyal to her after all this time," Círeth bit back. "She doesn't deserve the family she has, that we have, with the way she treated Mother and Father!"

Legolas was trying give the fighting young women space. He slipped away and went to find Aragorn to ask after Tinneth.

"She is _still_ _ **family**_ Círeth!" Fëalas, ever loyal, insisted angrily.

Círeth barred her teeth. "She's no family of mine."

Fëalas watched sadly as her sister walked to the other end of the archery range and began shooting arrows in silence. Each thump of each arrow reminded Fëalas of just how angry her twin was. And it wasn't without reason. But Tinneth was family. And family was _always_ family.

Later that morning, the twins had cooled down a bit and finished up their archery only to be met by their king as he watched them.

"Lord," Círeth bowed with a smile.

Aragorn put up his hand with a smile. "No need to stand on formalities. I am still your Uncle."

They grinned and nodded.

"Come, we need to talk." Aragorn gestured for them to follow him. "Legolas told me of your… disagreement… earlier."

Círeth turned red in the face. She couldn't explode at her uncle, her _king_ , like she could at her sister. She had to choose her words carefully.

"Tinneth is a lot like your mother was, you know." Aragorn smiled nostalgically. "I knew her from the first time she opened her eyes. And every day she grew more and more rebellious. Now she wasn't _quite_ Tinneth's level of rebellious. But she had that streak in her."

"Yes, uncle." Círeth nodded.

Aragorn continued. "She very much got on my nerves sometimes. She refused to follow orders, she never got her wounds checked. But she was family through Halbarad, a man I regarded as a brother. Now I am privileged to call her kin through union."

"With all due respect, Uncle, what does this have to do with Tinneth?" Círeth asked respectfully despite her anger.

Aragorn nodded. "I wish you to know that Tinneth, though bitter and full of anger, is still your, _our_ , kin. She will be treated as such. Is that understood?"

Fëalas nodded and waited for her sister to agree with the King. It took a few moments of hesitation but finally Círeth nodded as well.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Aragorn gave a small smile. "You two have grown into such beautiful, strong young women. I am proud to call you my nieces. Tinneth, too. Despite her resentment towards all of us. And I am asking the Valar each day to keep her safe."


	4. Past and Present

**Two Months Earlier - Arnor**

"What kind of house _is_ this?" Tinneth gaped, looking around in amazement and confusion at the wrought iron walls and heavy door.

Dúnir chuckled, a glint in his eye that almost set Tinneth on her guard. "This place? It's an old guard house. I found it many years ago."

"A guard house?" She nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

Dúnir sat her down at his table and lit some candles and the fire in the hearth. He went to a side room and got out some bread and berries. Setting it before her, he also got a glass of water for each of them.

"So, Lady Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel, what brings you out here so close to Angmar?"

"Is that where I am?" She gaped. "By the Valar, I've come far!"

"You must've run quite a ways," Dúnir nodded. "For if I'm not mistaken, you must be a Dunédain of the North?"

Tinneth nodded, taking a sip of her water and a bite of strawberry. "Indeed."

"Your parents must be very proud of you," Dúnir said, seemingly without motive.

Tinneth instantly dropped her food back to her plate and scowled. "They did not want me to join at all! I don't consider them my parents. Míril and Elrohir merely happened to give life to me. I am my own person!"

"But of course you are, Lady Tinneth. And a strong, beautiful young woman you have become!" Dúnir smiled. "It is a long way back to your encampment I am sure, and I doubt you will be out here again. Would you do this old man a favor and meet a friend of mine? I think you might like him."

"Who is he?" She asked curiously.

"Halion is his name. He is a brilliant craftsman and might be able to make something wortht of such a beautiful and powerful warrior as you, my lady." Dúnir smiled. "Please?"

Tinneth mulled it over. _Halion._ It meant "son of Shadow" in Quenya elvish. She wondered why such a dark name. Nevertheless, she liked this old man. He saw her for who she was, a woman of power who loved beauty too. So she made up her mind quickly.

"I would be honored, Dúnir." She nodded her head. "When should we leave?"

"Soon, Lady Tinneth." He pointed to how dark it was outside. "But first you need to sleep."

* * *

 

**Now - Gondor**

Aderthon walked up the streets of Minas Tirith to where the stables were. Two days had gone by since news of Tinneth's disappearance had arrived and they were still doing nothing. He hated it, but he would bide his time until his king told him otherwise.

"Elfwine!" Aderthon called to the teenager who sat on some steps eating lunch. "Want to go riding?"

"Anyone else going?" He replied with a nod.

"My sisters and Eldarion. Aragorn wants us to find Finduilas in Ithilien and bring her back here." Aderthon began tacking up his horse as he replied.

"I am coming as well," came a young woman's voice.

"Edeva!" Aderthon nodded. "Won't let your little brother out of your sight?"

Elfwine glared at his sister. "I'm sixteen, Edeva. You do not need to watch me like a flock of crebain!"

"Exactly. You are sixteen!" Edeva wouldn't listen to his protests. "You are also the heir to the throne of Rohan. It is my job to protect you as a member of the royal guard."

"As a member _in training_ ," Elfwine reminded her with a glare.

She rolled her eyes as she finished tacking up her light brown stallion. "Never mind that. Are you coming or not, Elfwine?"

He frowned by quickly put the staddle and reins onto his grey horse. "Of course I'm coming."

"My sisters are waiting for us down by the gate with Eldarion." Aderthon smiled at the rohirric royalty.

"Let us go!" Edeva spurred her horse forward.

They trotted out of the small gate from the stable yards and down the streets through the many levels. Men and women, boys and girls scurried out of their way and bowed in respect and awe at the three royals.

"There you are!" Eldarion laughed. "At last!"

"We came as soon as we could, _my prince_ ," Aderthon teased.

Eldarion rolled his eyes and pushed his horse forward out the gates onto the Pelennor Fields. "Come on."

"Race you!" Círeth yelled loudly as she pushed her black stallion forward swiftly. "Last one to the first sign is a Moria goblin!"

"You've never even _seen_ a Moria goblin," Aderthon laughed as he too sped forward.

She shouted back. "Well neither have you!"

With a laugh they all sped on. The first sign post was not too far, maybe a ten minute gallop. As it turned out, it was Elfwine who won.

"It isn't fair," Círeth complained good naturedly. "Greymane is the son of Shadowfax!"

Elfwine just laughed. What could he say? It was true! Greymane, his horse, was the son of the Lord of the Mearas! While that horse now had sailed West with the Ring bearers, Greymane was still in Middle Earth.

The company of royalty began the steady trot down the road to Emyn Arnen. From there, they would head into the wilds of Ithilien and find Finduilas.

The blonde haired Elfwine looked out of place among the red and dark haired others. He looked a lot like his father, Éomer. He also had the same spirit, the same drive to do well and serve. But he had a rebellious streak, much like his aunt, Eowyn.

He was a good friend of Aderthon and Eldarion, though perhaps it was more of a mentor he saw in them. They were many, many years his elder but they enjoyed spending time with the teenage warrior in the making.

Elfwine's one annoyance was the constant hovering of his sister, Edeva. He knew she was just trying to look out for him, not in the least because their mother and father has ordered it, but she was _always_ there. _Always._

As they made their way one horseback down the road, the passed the occasional traveller and bowed their heads in greeting. Suddenly though, they came across someone altogether unexpected.

"Lord Legolas?" Eldarion asked in surprise as they saw the elf walking and trotted quickly to catch up with him. "What are you doing out on the road?"

"Prince Eldarion!" He bowed. "I am making my way home to Ithilien."

Círeth frowned in confusion as she looked at the white horse he led behind him. "Why do you not ride? It would be faster."

"Unlike you young ones, I do not feel the need to go anywhere particularly fast!" He laughed. "Don't be hasty!"

"You sound like an ent," Elfwine smiled.

Legolas chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "Do I now?"

"Mount up and ride with us, Lord," Aderthon insisted with a laugh. "If you are willing to journey with hasty youngsters like us?"

Legolas smiled and hopped up onto his white horse. "I will indeed."


	5. Amon Loth

**Two Months Earlier - Arnor**

Tinneth awoke early the next morning, her body rested like it hadn't been in many months. The wilds were hard, but she liked it. Anything to get away from her family.

Tinneth really didn't understand why her parents thought her incapable of being on her own. They said she was too emotional, too full of anger. And she was, she supposed. But only towards them.

Dúnir got her a breakfast of eggs and meat. They spoke little, but Tinneth enjoyed his company. When they did speak, he would always remind her how powerful and wonderful she was. She enjoyed that.

"If you are ready," Dúnir began as she finished her meal. "If you are ready we can begin the walk to Halion's house. It is a day's journey from here."

She nodded. "I am. Let us be off."

Dúnir grabbed his pack and one for her. Together they left the house and went down a path to the right. It was very cold in the North where they were, especially since it was mid autumn. Flurries of snowflakes fell around Tinneth as she walked. Dúnir led the way.

As the hours went by, they would occasionally stop for food or to give Dúnir a rest. Slowly but surely they got closer to where her guide said Halion could be found. And by nightfall they were there.

Tinneth's eyes grew wide as she saw a great black building made of some kind of stone. It looked almost like a small fortress. She knew she should be careful, but she was too intrigued to stop.

"Halion's just in there."

Tinneth slowly walked up to the door and pushed it open. Dúnir stood behind her. When she went inside, she was surprised to find a man waiting for her. He sat in a chair sipping his tea.

"Tinneth of the House of Fëanoriel," said the dark haired man. "That is your name, correct?"

"Indeed. You are Halion?" She cocked her head in curiosity.

He smiled a sickly sweet grin. "Yes. That is my name. Come in, sit!"

She hesitantly slipped forward and sat across from Halion. He looked relatively young. His hair was all but black and his eyes amber. His black robe had red and gold accents in runic characters that she had never seen before.

"Lady Tinneth," Halion began. "You are a beautiful young woman, do you know that?"

"Thank you, sir," she smiled.

He nodded. "You are much more beautiful than your mother."

Tinneth's eyes lit up. She rarely, never, told that. Míril was always praised for her beauty by those trying to flatter their way into the royal family's hearts. It rarely worked.

"I am better than my mother at everything." Tinneth snorted, looking down her nose at Halion. "Everything."

"I'm sure you are." He smiled. "Would you like a chance to prove that?"

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

They had slept over night in Emyn Arnen. Now that it was morning, the travellers decided to set out in search of Finduilas.

"She is likely at Henneth Annûn," commented Círeth.

"Not a far ride," Fëalas nodded. "Follow us."

Henneth Annûn was still a base of the Rangers of Southern Gondor. All Dunedain that operated in the south of the Reunited Kingdom were privy to its existence, but few outside of these were. Eldarion and Aderthon had been there, but Edeva and Elfwine had not.

They made their way on horseback throughout Ithilien. Legolas travelled with them still as they would pass the settlement of Silvan elves he lived with along the way. Though Fëalas and Círeth lived in Ithilien with the Dunedain, they seldom visited the elves there. Their job took them more closely to Harad than anywhere else.

Soon they came upon the elven settlement. Elfwine, not accustomed to elves, was amazed at how beautiful everything was. Flowers of all kinds were dispersed across the grass and the trees bloomed with white and pink petals alongside the light green leaves. Berry bushes lined the path to either side.

"Welcome!" Legolas smiled and spread his arms. "To Amon Loth you have come."

"It is truly miraculous," Elfwine gaped, watching as golden haired elves went about their gardening and music playing.

Everything was peaceful. They saw not far away a great hillock, covered in flowers of gold and pink and white. _Amon Loth_. The Hill of Flower. An apt name it was. The twins, Aderthon, Eldarion, Edeva, and Elfwine all watched in amazement as Legolas led them further forward into the elven settlement. A few very young elflings darted to and fro in front of the path they took.

"Watch out, Aeglin!" Legolas laughed as the little boy scurried out of the way.

"Do you all enjoy it here in Ithilien?" asked Eldarion. "I hope you do."

Legolas nodded. "It is certainly different. The trees are less dark here, and the air is more open. We no longer live beneath the surface. But I at least have enjoyed it. I think my people do as well."

"I hope so," Fëalas smiled. "We work hard to keep this place safe along with the rest of the Southern Reunited Kingdom."

"We do appreciate it," Legolas agreed and then sighed. "Though I am itching for adventure again. I think I shall journey to visit Gimli once Aragorn decides what to do. Our visit was cut short."

"Do you ever visit the ents, Lord Legolas?" Edeva asked curiously as they passed through Amon Loth.

"Occasionally I have. Treebeard has of course taken up residence in the Treegarth of Isengard, as he has for many years now. My journeys seldom take me there, but sometimes, yes."

"I should love to meet an ent," commented Fëalas.

They all agreed. All the children had grown up on the stories of the War of the Ring, some 35 years ago though it took place. Of all the stories, the tales of the Battle of Helm's Deep and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields fascinated them the most. The ents, too, held a special interest in their hearts.

"Perhaps you shall meet one someday." Legolas replied. "Here I fear we must part. I shall return to Minas Tirith soon, but for now I must check on my people as I have been away for many months."

They bid farewell to Legolas before continuing on out the other side of the settlement. Henneth Annûn was but an hour's journey more. They would reach there by noon, if all went according to plan.


	6. Henneth Annun

**Two Months Earlier - Arnor**

"What did you have in mind, Halion?" Tinneth asked the man curiously.

"Tinneth I know that you go through pain each and every day," Halion began as he stood and walked around her. "I know because I have experienced it. To have a mother, a father who reject you. Who call you names and treat you differently than your siblings."

Tinneth glared at the ground, gripping her cup of tea in her hands fiercely. He continued.

"To feel empty and hollow inside, and all you have is your anger to warm you and keep you company." He paused to glance at her and saw his words were hitting their mark. "Tinneth, you should not have to live like that. You are a direct descendant of the greatest elven king to ever live. You are a descendent of Lord Fëanor! Why should you live as you do, shunned for your power and skill?"

She shattered the cup in her hands as she put too much pressure on the porcelain. It sliced her hand as it broke in pieces.

"That blood on your hands, it signifies that evil that your parents have done in not believing in you! They tried as hard as they could to smother your light and your power. And great power you have indeed!" Halion stooped to her and wrapped her hand with a cloth to stop the bleeding. "And your sisters, your brother, your cousins. What did they do to help you? When did they take your side over your mother's? They don't deserve the easy life they have."

"They all deserve death," growled Tinneth, standing and barring her teeth as she squeezed her fists. "All of them."

"Yes," nodded Halion as he circles her. "They do. But who will give it to them?"

Tinneth narrowed her eyes and smirked at him. "I will. Just show me how."

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

"Welcome to Henneth Annûn," Círeth smiled as they dismounted from their steeds and came upon a beautiful pool fed by a large waterfall.

"This is Henneth Annûn?" Elfwine asked her in surprise.

She nodded. "Why? What were you expecting?"

"Something… grander I suppose," he replied with a tilt of his head as he led Greymane to the water's edge.

"Stop!" came a cry from far above.

Everyone sprung back in surprise but Fëalas and Círeth laughed afterwards.

"Elfwine?" came the same voice in confusion as a woman with blonde hair came into view from behind a bush near half way up the falls. "What are you all doing here?"

"Finduilas!" Aderthon waved with a smile. "May we come up?"

"The twins are in charge," Finduilas shrugged. "It is up to them."

The red haired sisters nodded instantly. They hid their horse in a patch of trees nearby before Círeth led them behind through the secret passage into Henneth Annûn. As they went up they passed behind the waterfall. Elfwine paused to gaze upon the beauty of the light as it filtered in through the falling water droplets. The roar made speaking nearly impossible until they got further inside.

There were half a dozen men clothed in greens and browns. A few women were there as well. Some rangers sharpened swords, others whittled arrows. A few sat reading old texts and scrolls. They all looked up upon seeing the newcomers. When their eyes fell upon the royals, they all shot up and stood at attention.

"At ease," Círeth ordered her soldiers. Fëalas nodded behind her.

"Prince Eldarion, to what do we owe the pleasure?" a man asked, coming over.

He was second in command under Finduilas. A tall, well built figure, he had sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes that looked with honor upon his prince.

"Unfortunately that is for Finduilas' ears only, Rohir," Eldarion sighed. "It is a matter of urgency. We have come to bring Finduilas back to Minas Tirith."

Rohir nodded and backed away with a bow. He signaled for the rest of his ranger companions to follow him into a side passage so the royals could talk.

"What is the matter at Minas Tirith?" Finduilas looked at them in concern, hands on her hips.

Aderthon answered her. "Tinneth had gone missing and Aragorn is calling us all back."

"Tinneth? She's missing?" Finduilas looked at them in concern. "But how?"

"Her company was split and attacked by Gundabad wargs. Initial reports say they think she was driven north." Eldarion replied. "As for why you are being called home, we can only guess my father's intentions."

"When do we leave?" Finduilas nodded.

They looked out at the sun. It was already starting to sink below the treeline. They could perhaps make it to the elven settlement by nightfall.

"We'll leave in the morning, if you're rangers don't mind the company." Eldarion decided.

"Of course," said Círeth, Fëalas, and Finduilas all at the same time.

They looked at each other and laughed. Technically the Rangers currently at Henneth Annûn belonged to Círeth's company. But all three women were leaders among the Southern Dunedain. Círeth and Fëalas were the two head Captains of the Dunedain while Finduilas was one rank below them.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon and the Rangers came back to the main room, the companions were shown where they could sleep and given food for dinner. Elfwine insisted on facing the waterfall where he watched it in amazement.

"Grand enough for you?" whispered Fëalas to Elfwine as they sat together watching the falls.

"Yes. It is more than anything I could've expected." He looked at his older friend.

He was the only teenager of the friend group. Sometimes he felt alone, but he loved his cousins, whether they were cousins by blood or by friendship. Fëalas was one of his favorites. She was always happy, and she was loyal to her friends perhaps even to a fault. He loved that about her.

"Come." Fëalas smiled after they had spent several hours watching the water in silence. "Get to sleep, _mellon-nin_."

"You should as well," Elfwine nodded with a whisper and a yawn as he went to his section to sleep in.

Fëalas chuckled. "Soon."


	7. Nine Once More

They departed from Henneth Annûn early the next morning. The full day's trip back to Minas Tirith was a long one, but they got it done. Along the way they chatted about many things, such as relations with Harad.

It was past midnight when they reached the gates of Minas Tirith. The gate keepers eventually opened the gates for them and they rode up the silent streets to the level with the royal stables.

They dropped off their horses with the stable master on duty and went to bed. Finduilas went to find her family who had come to Minas Tirith a few days before.

She knocked on the door to the guest house she was directed to. After several minutes, a tired face answered. His brown hair and brown eyes were droopy from sleepiness, but once they met Finduilas' face, they perked up.

"Fin!" the man said with a grin.

"Elboron," she smiled, giving him a huge hug. "I assume the rest of the family is asleep?"

"Indeed." He nodded and let her inside. "Mother and Father have been busy, and Barahir spent much time today training."

"Since when does our brother need to train?" She laughed quietly.

He shrugged. "He is rather skinny."

Finduilas smirked. "That just means he needs to eat more."

They went and sat on a couch at a dormant fireplace. The autumn air was pleasantly warm and they did not need the fire to heat the house. Elboron smiled at his sister and shook his head.

"It is good to see you, sister." He nodded. "You are missed at Emyn Arnen."

She sighed. "I know. But I do well for myself as a ranger."

The siblings were vastly different but they loved each other dearly. Elboron took most after his father, Faramir. An able warrior, but a man who preferred diplomacy and scholarly pursuits to hacking and slashing. If needed, he could be deadly in battle, but on the inside he was hesitant to ever engage in such.

Meanwhile Finduilas was a spitting image of her mother in many ways. Her blonde hair and blue eyes echoed Eowyn's own. But even more than that, Finduilas had inherited the spirit of fiery passion from her mother. The desire for the thrill of battle, the craving of adventure and renknown. Finduilas was truly a child of Eowyn. Yet from her father she learned kindness and gentleness also.

Their brother, Barahir, was a mix. He had the blonde hair of his mother and greyish eyes of his father. He was an expert tactician, warrior, and diplomat. He was tall but skinny, yet his arms were pure muscle. He welded a sword and shield like few others could.

"Get some rest," Elboron insisted as he saw Finduilas' eyes drooping and mind wandering. "You need it, obviously."

She went to protest, but her brother held up a hand to silence her. She grumbled and went to a side room to sleep. Elboron soon retreated to his own room. There were but a few hours until dawn, and he intended to make the most of them.

The next morning, Estelwen woke to the sound of her father, Aragorn, pacing. She quickly got out of bed and eased into some comfortable slippers. Still in her nightgown, she left the room and found Aragorn now talking to Eldarion, her brother.

"What is going on?" She yawned and stretched. "I woke up to the commotion you are making."

"I am sorry about that," Aragorn apologized to his daughter.

"So what is the matter now?" She was very curious now.

Eldarion shook his head. "Nothing new. That's the problem."

"We've heard nothing new about Tinneth," explained her father. "It's been almost two weeks since I first received the news. We should've heard something by now."

"If they found her," Estelwen nodded. "So what are you going to do?"

Several hours later, all members of royalty were gathered in the throne room for a meeting. Eowyn and Faramir looked concerned, as did Miril and Elrohir, understandably. Next to Aragorn stood Arwen and next to her, their elder daughter Amdirien. Estelwen was near to her brother, Eldarion.

Elfwine, Edeva, Finduilas, Barahir, and Elboron stood together with Eowyn and Faramir, for Eomer and Lothiriel were back in Rohan. Fëalas, Círeth, and Aderthon stood by their parents and uncle, Elladan. Everyone was there.

Aragorn quieted them down with a raised hand. They grew silent immediately, as if he was to pronounce some great doom. And indeed, he was.

"Nearly 37 years ago, a fellowship was created to destroy the greatest evil in Middle Earth. I was a member of that great quest." He grew silent, thinking of those he had lost, before continuing. "Nine there were, and I think that nine is now a special number. For I have chosen nine to return North, to my homeland, and find what is amiss in that region."

Everyone grew nervous, yet also filled with anticipation. Who was to go?

"I have thought long about this. There are many here who likely wish to go." He glanced at the parents of the children. "But it is time for a new generation to take their place in the annals of history."

The younger generation quivered with excitement.

"Therefore, I appoint my son, Eldarion, to head this mission. With him will go Aderthon, Fëalas, and Círeth, for this directly effects their family. But also I send Edeva, Elfwine, Finduilas, Barahir, and Elboron. For each has something to give and to learn from this quest."

Eldarion bowed to his father. "We will not fail you, Father."

Aragorn nodded. "I know you will not."

"When will they leave?" Faramir asked with a sigh.

"As soon as they can be ready. Hopefully tomorrow." Aragorn would say no more.

In reality, he had seen something. He had looked in the Palantír of Minas Tirith and seen something building. He had been unable to make much sense of it, but because of this he had decided it was time to send people to investigate. And he intended to send only the best.


	8. Revenge is Calling

**Two Months Ago - Arnor**

Tinneth wandered through the forests, covered in bruises and cuts. Halion had made sure of that.

"Tinneth!" cried a woman as she spotted the bruised and battered lost Ranger. "Tinneth is back!"

Tinneth smiled lightly and nodded. The small company of Dunedain rushed around her and asked her millions of questions every second. But she didn't respond with words. She responded in blood.

Drawing her steel swords she swung them forward and decapitated a ranger who stood nearby. The others gasped and scrambled away from her in fear and disgust and confusion.

"Tinneth!"

A ranger rushed her but she spun back and forth between opponents like a pendulum. Left and right she struck deep into their flesh. She sliced a leg off here, an arm there. Each time someone came at her, she blocked and parried and landed deadly blows. Her skill at duel wielding blades was unparalleled.

Back and forth she went, left and right. She caught a woman in the throat and the blood spurted onto her clothes and into her mouth. It tasted like iron. Tinneth kicked a man back and drove her left sword into his chest while simultaneously slicing through another man's arm with her right blade.

The remaining few rangers tried to run. But she would have none of that. She threw her two knives at two of the three that fled, killing them instantly. She allowed the third to flee and as he looked back she smiled.

"Run, coward. Let everyone know that Tinneth is home," she called.

She heard a moan and a small voice by her feet. Turning to look, she saw the woman who had initially greeted her.

She pleaded. "Why?"

"You think you know pain?" snarled Tinneth, kneeling beside the dying woman. "I have shown you the pain I suffer each day. This will bring my parents and siblings to me, and they will learn to suffer as well."

Standing up, she took her blood stained swords and plunged them deep into the woman's chest. Looking around her, she counted the bodies. Thirteen lay there, blood covered bodies splayed out at unnatural angles. The forest floor was covered in sticky scarlet blood as it oozed from the victim's bodies.

Tinneth smiled. She kicked over the body of one of her ranger companions and stared into his unseeing eyes. She saw in them pain, and she resonated with it. She fed off it.

This would draw her family out to her. This would grant her vengeance. And until then, she had a job to do. Halion wanted her to kill as many rangers as she could before she returned to Angmar. He instructed her to meet him at the ancient fortress of Carn Dûm and that from there he would have further instructions.

Life was good. For once, she was able to _use_ her anger, her emotion. For once she didn't feel underappreciated. For once she knew she was fulfilling her destiny.

Revenge was calling.

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

Noon the next day rolled around and the small company was antsy. Packed and ready to depart, they met again in the throne room and said their farewells. Aragorn and Miril walked them down the stables.

"Find your sister," Miril told Aderthon. "Keep her safe."

"Of course," Aderthon nodded to his mother. "No harm will come to her as long as I have anything to say about that."

Miril smiled at her eldest child and felt a tear fall down her cheek. "Your father and I are so proud of you. You've become such an honorable man."

"Just like you two," he replied with a bow of his head.

Meanwhile, Aragorn was speaking to his own son.

"Eldarion. Keep yourselves ready for anything. The path between here and the North Kingdom should be clear. Avoid Dunland, for it is still populated by evil men." Aragorn placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "You are a wise leader. I know you know this."

Eldarion chuckled. "Yes, Father, I do know. But it does not hurt to hear it again."

Aragorn nodded, his face falling into an expression of seriousness. "You are in charge, now. You are ready for this, I know. There is something happening in the North bigger than the disappearance of your cousin. I do not know what, but something big grows there."

Eldarion bowed his head. "Fear not, Father. I will get news back to you somehow."

"Stop first at Edoras and Helm's Deep. Then head north through Moria. It should be fine, for an expedition of dwarves has begun taking it back." Aragorn sighed. "Find Gimli in Aglarond. He may have some suggestions for you."

His son nodded. "We will be fine, Father. Do not fret."

"I know." Aragorn gave a small smile. "But you are my son. I will always worry no matter how old you get."

"I know," he smiled back to his father. "Take care of Mother, and Amdirien and Estelwen."

Aragorn laughed. "Of course. Now, get going."

Eldarion hopped up onto his steed and shouted to the others. "Everyone up! Time we were off."

"For the Reunited Kingdom!" Aderthon shouted with a smile, drawing his sword and lifting it high.

The others laughed as they all mounted their own horses. Fёalas and Cireth strapped their bows on their backs. Elfwine pushed a jumpy and excited Greymane out into the open. Edeva smiled at her teenage brother's enthusiasm as she too led her steed onward.

"Good luck. May the Valar be with you," Aragorn nodded and waved as Eldarion ordered them forward.

As the children of the heroes of the War of the Ring went out from Minas Tirith, Miril stood beside her foster uncle.

"What more do you know that you're not telling us," she asked without emotion. "You're hiding something."

"Just as I told Eldarion. I looked in the Palantir. A darkness is regaining a foothold in the North. And I fear Tinneth's disappearance is just the beginning," he told her with a sigh as they watched the men and women ride down the street and out of view.


	9. Outside the Forest

The fellowship rode hard that day. They reckoned it'd be about a week and a half until Edoras, but they were eager to shorten the time if they could. The only member of the great houses that had seen the North was Tinneth, so most were very excited at the prospect of experiencing the vast expanse of Lake Evendim and the past glory of the mostly abandoned settlement of Rivendell. They wanted to see the pine forests that Tinneth would sometimes describe to Aderthon in her occasional letters. None of them had seen, let alone fought, a Moria goblin or a cave troll. All these legends told to them by their parents were now to become reality for they themselves.

That night they stopped in the very edge of a small forest at the base of the White Mountains where cover was easy to find. Fëalas and Círeth were right at home, but Edeva and Elfwine furrowed their brows and looked around skeptically.

"Here it will be harder to escape." Edeva sharpened one of her two small axes on a whetstone as they sat just beneath the bows.

"Besides," Elfwine muttered. "Isn't this the Drúadan Forest?"

Eldarion looked at him in confusion. "Indeed. Why?"

He looked around in concern. "Is it not haunted?"

Aderthon smiled and shook his head. "Nay, Elfwine. It is a protected land beneath Lord Aragon's rule, populated by the Drúadain, the Woses. No spirits here."

Eldarion nodded. "I have never met one, but my father says they are a kindly folk."

"Provided you aren't an orc," Aderthon smirked, pulling out his sword and swinging it at Eldarion.

Eldarion blocked just in time with a chuckle. "I am no orc!"

Fëalas giggled merrily. "Some say you are."

"Who!" Eldarion looked genuinely concerned and confused.

Aderthon cackled at him. "Me!"

Elboron laughed along. "We did used to play Orcs and Hunters, Eldarion. And you were always the orc."

They smiled fondly at the memory. Orcs and Hunters had been the favorite game of the cousins. And whenever Elboron would visit, it was even better.

They settled down after a while and made dinner with the food they had brought. It was a tasty, if small, meal but it was shared with friends so it was wonderful. Soon they were heading to sleep.

The first pair on guard duty were Elboron and Eldarion. The two were both 35 years old, having been born in the same year, Year One of the Fourth Age. Whenever Eowyn and Faramir had visited Minas Tirith, they would bring Elboron and let him play with Eldarion and Aderthon. As such they had grown into their own selves together.

"What more do you know that you're not telling us, Eldarion," Elboron asked quietly as they sat looking out over the plains from the edge of the wood.

Eldarion looked up in surprise. "What?"

Elboron chuckled lightly. "Do not forget, I am known for being able to read people."

"Right." Eldarion sighed. "I know only this: there is something big growing in the North, and it isn't friendly. That's all my father told me."

Elboron nodded. "And you have not told the others because?"

"I do not wish to worry them." Eldarion shrugged. "Aderthon still has strong ties to Tinneth, as does Fëalas. And Edeva would never let Elfwine keep on going if she knew."

"Then is it not your duty to tell them?" Elboron just kept staring out over the plains, letting Eldarion make up his mind.

The half-elven prince sighed to himself. "I suppose. I had hoped to spare them the knowledge that we may be riding into major evil."

Elboron smiled softly. "You are too kind sometimes, Eldarion. Always have been."

Eldarion laughed. "Tell that to Aderthon. He thinks I'm an orc!"

"Oh you are." A mischievous look came upon Elboron. "Just a really wimpy one."

They continued on watch, but nothing of note came up. At midnight, they switched off with Finduilas and Barahir. The two siblings settled themselves comfortably, backs against the foremost trees. Barahir yawned.

"How have the Rangers been treating you, Fin," Barahir asked. "Hopefully they've been rough."

Finduilas rolled her eyes. "I've been fine, thank you very much. How about you, sitting around in Emyn Arnen?"

Her brother smiled. "I've started training with father's guards to become a guard in Ithilien. And I visit the elves for help with my techniques as well."

"Really?" She looked at him in surprise. "Are they helpful?"

Finduilas liked elves well enough. Her queen was an elf after all. Well, a half elf. But she had never really known any other than Arwen and her brothers. Or on the occasion, Lord Legolas.

Barahir nodded. "They say I'm doing well, for someone of my size."

"You need to eat more," she reminded him.

"You sound like Mother," Barahir rolled his eyes.

Finduilas smiled. She took that as nothing but a compliment. She aspired to be like Eowyn as much as she could. Father told her she was a lot like her mother, too.

"It's true though," she poked him in the stomach. "You're so small for someone of your height!"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "To change the subject, do you think we'll find Tinneth?"

His sister sighed. "I do not know. She has been missing for almost two months, unless word is being sent here that she was found. By the time we reach the North, it'll have been almost four months."

"I hope she is safe," Barahir said. "I know she is not well liked among, well, anyone. But she does not deserve to disappear with no one to comfort her."

"I did not mind her too much." Finduilas smiled a tiny smile. "She used to catch frogs with me in Ithilien when we were children. She was a sore loser and an angry girl, but she wasn't horrible."

"Just tell that to Círeth," her brother shrugged. "You know how she feels about her sister."

Finduilas sighed. "I think Tinneth looked up to Círeth and that was why she did such horrible things to her."

Barahir looked at her like she was crazy. That made no sense to him. Why would someone torment their idol?


	10. The Watch

"Come on, everyone up," Círeth nudged the sleeping forms of her friends. "We need to get moving soon."

Elfwine yawned and stretched as he sat up. He and his sister were in charge of breakfast. Together he and Edeva handed out berries and bread for everyone. As they ate, they talked with one another in high spirits, eager for this journey to continue. Only Eldarion and Elboron sat silently. Elboron gave his friend a nudge and a nod.

Eldarion stood and cleared his throat. "Friends. I feel it my duty to let you know of the potential danger we are heading into."

Everyone grew quiet. Aderthon looked at him in concern from where he sat next to his sisters. Edeva glanced from Elfwine to Eldarion, while Barahir and Finduilas just looked at their brother Elboron suspiciously.

The prince continued. "Before we left, my father told me he had looked in the Palantír. He saw a darkness growing in the North, he he fears Tinneth's disappearance is but the beginning."

They were all of somber mood now. What had started as a quest for information and adventure into the brave new world of the North was now potentially a quest of danger and deadly conflict.

"My father would have told you himself, but he did not wish to worry our parents." Eldarion glanced sidelong at Elboron. "I decided it best we know, though."

"Indeed," Edeva agreed.

"We best be off," Barahir said, looking at the sky. "It is late morning already."

They all mounted their horses. Greymane was the most eager to be off, tossing his head so his dark mane cascaded down his silvery-grey flank. He pranced about with an amused Elfwine on his back.

"Greymane wants to run!" Aderthon laughed, gesturing to the eager horse. "Shall we?"

The fellowship took off at a gallop, riding along the base of the mountains. They had to stop to rest the horses periodically, but they made good time. When they stopped for the evening, it had started raining. There was no cover to be found.

"I hate this," Elfwine muttered in irritation as the rain picked up.

Greymane tossed his head as if in agreement with his rider. Círeth murmured her own complaints as they halted at last. The ground sunk beneath their feet as they dismounted.

"Dinner will be without a fire tonight," Aderthon sighed.

They ate bread and cheese for dinner. Wrapped in their cloaks to keep out the rain, they sat mostly in silence for awhile until at last Eldarion looked at the dark, cloudy sky and shook his head.

"Fëalas, Elboron. Take first watch please," Eldarion instructed. "Wake Aderthon and Círeth at midnight. You two will wake me and Edeva."

And so they went to sleep. Fëalas settled herself beside her pack against a boulder and wrapped her cloak tight. She surveyed the area around her and glanced at the sleeping forms of her friends.

Elboron came over and sat beside her, wrapped in his own large blue cloak. He took some time to look for any threats before he leaned against the large boulder.

"You're worried about your sister," Elboron commented after several minutes of silence. "I can tell."

Fëalas gave a sigh. "Indeed. My sister may have severed ties with Tinneth, but I certainly have not."

He nodded. "I am worried about the North. What doom lies for us there in wait?"

"First we have to get there." Fëalas frowned but looked at Elboron fondly.

"I wish I could say all will be fine," he nodded in return. "But I cannot."

Fëalas flashed him a small smile. Her deep red hair was drenched and stuck to her face, but she only had attention for Elboron. His rich brown hair was also flattened against his face and cheeks and he looked altogether stunning in her eyes.

As far as she knew, only her sister knew of her adoration for Elboron. But Elboron was aware of it as well. He smiled inwardly to himself as she looked at him lovingly. She certainly was beautiful, but he did not love her like that.

They sat in silence for most of the shift. When eventually midnight came, and it was time to wake Aderthon and Círeth, Fëalas and Elboron went their separate ways and tried to get comfortable despite the constant rain.

Aderthon and Círeth took up their spots at the boulder and said nothing, until at last Aderthon broke the silence.

He began. "I know you hold no love for Tinneth-"

"-None." Círeth glared straight ahead.

With a sigh, her brother went on. "But perhaps she has learned something while away in the North."

"Learned what? Obedience? Never. Respect? Never. Love? Impossible." Círeth clenched her fists. "She has always lacked the ability to love."

"That is untrue, Cír." Aderthon shook his head at her. "She was never a happy child, but she loved us once. And I think perhaps she still does, deep down."

In the rain, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. How could he ever get his younger sisters to reconcile? Círeth, whether she wanted to admit it or not, was _just_ as stubborn as Tinneth. She had a short temper, too, though Tinneth got the worst of that trait.

"She will have to earn my love," Círeth hissed beneath her cloak, trying the best she could to hide from the rain.

Her brother sighed and nodded. He supposed that was the best he would get out of his sister. But then he smiled.

"Do you remember how much Tinneth loved the rain?" His smile grew larger.

Círeth didn't respond.

"I used to take her out to play in the courtyard of the Tower with you and Fëalas, but only she would ever like to get wet." Aderthon sighed. "She would laugh and laugh as the rain hit her face and cheeks."

"I just remember her splashing my face and putting mud on my clothes," Círeth responded bitterly.

With a sigh, Aderthon went back to watching the rainy skies in silence. He knew Tinneth was good. He only hoped she was still alive.

When at last they woke Edeva and Eldarion, it was but four or five hours until sunrise. The rain had reduced to a light drizzle but the ground was soaking wet and muddy. Edeva and Eldarion sat atop the boulder despite the exposure it caused in order to flee the soppy ground.

"Edeva," Eldarion began after an hour of silence. "How will your parents react at sending you and your brother North?"

Edeva shrugged as she twirled a small throwing axe. "Honestly? I do not know."

"You would forbid Elfwine from going, would you not?" Eldarion sighed.

She shrugged and then nodded. "Yes. I would. He is but sixteen, Eldarion. He is not ready."

"I think he would learn a lot on this quest," he admitted to her. "And his fighting is top notch for a boy his age."

" _For a boy his age_ , Yes. But he still has much to learn," she objected immediately, pointing out the flaw in the prince's argument.

"It will be up to your mother and father, I suppose." Eldarion frowned but then his face brightened as he saw the clouds passing at last and the sun beginning to rise. Under his breath he whispered, "Utúlie'n aurë."

That is, "the day has come".


	11. In the Golden Hall

A week later they finally spotted the golden hall of Edoras up ahead. It had rained off and on for many days. The fellowship was entirely sick and tired of it by now. Their clothes were damp, their packs soaked, so they were very pleased to finally find civilization.

Edeva and Elfwine led the way. They were eager to see their parents and tell them of what was going on in the the Reunited Kingdom, especially in the North, in Arnor. Elfwine pushed Greymane the last bit of the way, leaving the others to play catch up. Soon enough, all were standing before the gates into the grand city of the Horse-Lords.

A cry went up on the walls. "Open the gates! Prince Elfwine and his companions have arrived!"

The large wooden gates slowly swung open until the path was clear. Edeva and Elfwine led the group up the streets of Edoras until theh reached the Royal Stables. Once there, they dismounted and left their horses with the stable masters as they themselves walked up to Meduseld.

"Prince, Lady," bowed the door warden. "The King and Queen are inside."

They were all let in as the doors swung open and inside was revealed the famed "Golden Hall" of the Rohirrim. At the far end sat two people. King Éomer and Lady Lothiriel, his queen, were waiting for them.

"Lord, Lady," Eldarion knelt before them and his companions followed suit. "Thank you for welcoming us."

Eomer smiled. "Stand, my friends. You are royalty in your own right and though I appreciate your honor, I do not need it."

Eldarion smiled as he stood. "As you wish."

"Now," Eomer nodded to them. "What news do you bear hither. For if Aragorn sent so many highly skilled warriors, there must be much amiss."

"Perhaps we should speak of that alone," Eldarion hesitated, glancing at the other lords and ladies in the hall. "It is not for all ears."

Éomer agreed. "Of course. Follow me."

The fellowship followed Eomer and Lothiriel into a back room. Along the way, Lothiriel fawned over her son, but also was mindful that he was as proud as his father and would not want to be coddled around those he looked up to.

As they sat around a table, Eomer gestured for Eldarion to begin.

"It was fortunate that Edeva and Elfwine were in Minas Tirith," Eldarion began. "My father summoned us there and they were included. My cousin, Lady Tinneth, has gone missing in the forests of Arnor in the North."

Lothiriel looked very concerned. "Is Miril handling it alright?"

Lothiriel and Míril had met 35 years ago when she and the sons of Elrond had visited Dol Amroth for the first time. Ever since, the two women had remained good friends.

"Our mother and father are understandably troubled," Aderthon answered. "However they are doing fine as far as I could tell."

Lothiriel nodded for Eldarion to continue. He bowed his head and went on.

"My father chose the nine of us to journey North and find her." He paused. "Yet more than that, he fears a darkness like that of old may be growing there."

"We came to ask your permission to go with them, Father," Elfwine added quickly. "May we?"

"Of course." Éomer nodded immediately. "Aragorn is a good friend of mine and a wise king. If he thinks it important that you and Edeva accompany these men and women to the North, then I will agree."

Everyone looked to the queen. Lothiriel sighed and closed her eyes but nodded.

"I agree. We owe them much and we must find Tinneth!" Lothiriel looked sadly at Elfwine but smiled to encourage him.

"But father," Edeva objected fiercely. "Elfwine is still young!"

Elfwine shouted. "Be quiet, Edeva! You want all the glory for yourself!"

Edeva looked stunned at his assumption and frowned. She did not want glory. She wanted to keep her little brother safe. For she knew the dangers of the wilds. The small scar above her left eye showed as much.

"Elfwine will go," Éomer insisted. "I believe he can learn much from visiting the northern lands. It will be good for him."

Elfwine smiled and nodded. "I will not let you down."

"Is there a place we could stay the night and dry off?" Eldarion asked at last. "Our supplies are soaked and we are out of food."

"Of course," nodded the king. "Edeva, Elfwine, take them to the guest houses. We shall see that you are given fresh food, water, and clothing by morning."

Together they got up from the table and made their way back through the hall out into the finally sunny midday air. Rohan, as always, smelled like fresh grass and flowers. But it was even more poignant after the rains that had fallen.

Elfwine, Edeva, Finduilas, Barahir, and Elboron were more than well acquainted with the layout of Edoras. The others had been there a couple times, but did not know enough of it to walk unguided to the guest houses.

The Rohirric townsfolk looked in awe upon the passing travelers, especially the four half-elves. Elves weren't common in Rohan. The last time a real, true elf had been seen was when Legolas passed through to visit Gimli, the Lord of the Glittering Caves. He and a contingent of dwarves had delved deep into the White Mountains and established a colony. Renowned for rebuilding the gates of Minas Tirith, and rebuilding Helm's Deep, they performed great services for Gondor and Rohan.

"You can stay here for the night," Elfwine told them as they reached the guest houses. "There are plenty of rooms inside."

"Thank you," Eldarion smiled. "We will wash up. Please send someone to retrieve us before dinner. I wish to dine with your parents, as do the rest of us I'm sure."

Everyone heartily agreed. Elfwine and Edeva left the others to go back and spend time with their parents, leaving their companions to their own devices.

"I am going to bathe," Círeth announced immediately. "Do _not_ disturb me unless you absolutely _must._ "

They chuckled as she left for a room on the right and Fëalas followed. They would, as usual, be rooming together.

Aderthon and Eldarion took another room while the three children of Faramir and Eowyn took a third. Once the door closed, immediately Aderthon flopped on the bed and wouldn't get up.

"I have not ridden so long in so much rain in a very long time!" He sighed. "I am exhausted!"

Eldarion laughed. "You and me both."

"Do you remember that time we insisted in riding to Dol Amroth and back in the middle of spring, by ourselves?" Aderthon sat up and grinned.

The other man's expression changed to one of mischief. "You mean before the Festival of Elbereth? Absolutely."

"Our parents were so upset when we finally came home." Aderthon laughed merrily. "I'll never forget being nineteen and reckless like that."

"Of course you won't. You still act like that," Eldarion winked at him as he too sat on a bed to claim it as his own. "But in all seriousness, I am glad we did that. It was the last time we saw Prince Imrahil. He died later that year, remember?"

Aderthon frowned. "How could I forget? Our parents were very upset. _We_ were very upset! Even my sisters, too young to remember much of Imrahil, were sad."

"Yet Prince Elphir is a good leader of Dol Amroth, too," Eldarion shrugged. "And his young son is very sweet."

"Alphros is wonderful," the other agreed. "I wish Lady Orla would bring him to Minas Tirith more."

Everyone loved Lady Orla, the lady of Dol Amroth and wife of Prince Elphir. She was from Rohan originally, and married Elphir for political reasons as she was the daughter of Erkenbrand. But much like the success of Eomer and Lothiriel's marriage, it seemed to others that Elphir and Orla had gone over splendidly. Their five year old son, Alphros, was loved by everyone.

"I hope our quest does not take as long as the Fellowship of the Ring's journey took," murmured Eldarion before he made a face. "I miss my sisters already."

Aderthon agreed. "I miss mine as well."


	12. Hatred's Beginning

**Now - Rohan**

It was a royal guard who retrieved the fellowship for dinner that night. Together the group made their way back to Meduseld, eager for a warm, filling meal. When they were situated at the large table, King Eomer stood, cup in hand.

"For the good health of my kin and the kin of my great friend King Elessar!" He raised the chalice high. "That together our houses may forever protect the free peoples of Middle Earth!"

Cries and cheers went up from all present as they toasted alongside the King. Elfwine and Edeva clinked goblets with smiles on their faces. It was good to be home, if only for a little while.

Finduilas and Barahir were busy talking with some other noblemen of Rohan. As niece and nephew of the King, they were well known in Rohan. Elboron was chatting instead with Eldarion and Aderthon, despite he himself being a nephew of the King, too.

"So what road do we take from here," Aderthon asked Eldarion as he took a mouthful of stew.

Eldarion took a bite of rabbit haunch. "We should make our way to Helm's Deep. My father wanted us to stop at the Glittering Caves and speak to Lord Gimli."

"And from there?" Elboron asked him.

"North." Eldarion flashed a small smile. "I figured that since we will be with a few days ride of there, that we could hop by Isengard and meet Treebeard and the ents."

Fëalas who sat next him jumped into their conversation, breaking off her own tale she had been telling a few noblemen.

"We're going to see the ents?" She grinned widely. "Are you playing with my dreams, Eldarion?!"

The prince laughed lightly. "I figured it might lift our spirits to stop by the Treegarth of Isengard."

Elboron smiled at Fëalas' reaction. She was such a funny girl.

"From the Treegarth, I figured we'd ride due north through Fangorn and Lorien until we reach the East Gate of Moria." Eldarion sighed. "It is my hope, as it was my father's, that the dwarven expedition there will help us get through."

"We should speak to Lord Gimli about that," Elboron suggested.

Aderthon agreed. "Perhaps he will have contacts within the expedition."

Meanwhile, Círeth was conspicuously missing from the table. It was Fëalas who noticed first, and she leaned to her brother to tell him she was missing.

"If you'll excuse me," he bowed to the company around him. "I have something to attend to."

He rose from his seat, gesturing for Fëalas to remain. Aderthon left the golden hall quietly and strode out into the night air. The stars were bright that night and he smiled at them.

Shaking his head, he got back to the task at hand. He wandered down the path from Meduseld and looked left and right for his missing sister until at last he found her.

_Twang. Thump._

The noise of a lone archer was all he heard as Aderthon approached the training grounds of Edoras.

_Twang. Thump._

Another arrow was loosed from the string and met it's mark on the target.

_Twang. Thump._

Círeth's deep red hair was unmistakable as Aderthon moved closer. He folded his arms across his chest and watched his younger sister silently.

_Twang. Thump._

"Something troubling you, sister?" He finally asked, coming forward.

Círeth was caught off guard and spun to face him, bow drawn back. She sighed and released the tension when she realized who had addressed her.

"Not really," she lied, placing the arrow back in her quiver expertly. "Just felt like a little practice, that's all."

Aderthon smirked. "I know you better than that, Cír. Come on."

With a dramatic eye roll, Círeth sighed and folded her arms. "It's really quite simple. You know I dislike crowds, _especially_ ones filled with drunken men."

Aderthon dropped his smile and realized what she meant. It was a touchy subject. As she turned away, he walked forward and stood beside her.

"I know. And every day I hate myself for letting it happen to you." He growled low. "If only I had been there sooner."

"Aderthon," Círeth shook her head. "The only person I blame for the assault that night, is Tinneth."

* * *

" _Are you sure it's safe?" Círeth asked her little sister._

" _Are you frightened?" sneered the ten year old Tinneth._

_Círeth, age thirteen, straightened up. "Of course not."_

" _Then go in there." Tinneth hid the intense glare she wanted to make from her older sister._

_The two girls, one with flaming red locks and the other with shining silver hair, stood in the second level of Minas Tirith behind a barrel watching the entrance of a tavern. Tinneth, ever looking for trouble, had dared her tenacious older sister to enter the bar dressed as a commoner. Said it would test the people and see if they were being kind as they should._

_Círeth accepted the dare even though she had been forbidden from entering the lower circles alone. So here they were._

" _Wait here for me," Círeth reminded her sister. "I'll be right back."_

_Tinneth nodded and watched her sister enter the tavern before bolting up the streets to the citadel, laughing the entire time. She went straight to her parents and told them that Círeth had decided to try to meet boys in the tavern of the second level._

_When they finally found Círeth, bruised and battered in an alley, Tinneth realized her mistake. She felt bad, truly she did. But her parents refused to believe Círeth's story of Tinneth's treachery and she had no intention of owning up to it._

* * *

That had been the last straw for Círeth. It had taken years for her to recover emotionally from the ordeal. And even up to now, she had a special hatred of men and their drinks. And, a special hatred of Tinneth her sister.

Only Aderthon had believed her story. He knew Círeth would never have refused a dare and knew that was something entirely Tinneth-like. But he reminded his sister constantly that Tinneth had not meant for the attack to happen, and certainly not planned it.

"I know you blame Tinneth," Aderthon sighed. "But she is not a bad person. She would never purposely harm you, or anyone."

* * *

**Now - Angmar**

"How many do we have?" Tinneth asked Halion.

She had returned from her expeditions into Arnor about a month ago, and since then had concerned herself with improving her skills in battle and learning about Angmar's history from their perspective.

Halion responded slowly. "Too few. I've managed to bring together 5,000 men. We have another 3,000 if we arm the women. But that will not be enough."

Tinneth, clothed from head to toe in black leather and cloth, with ebony armor on her shoulders, arms, and legs, looked positively menacing. Around her neck was a necklace with a glowing red jewel. A gift from Halion. He told her it was enchanted to enhance the power she could muster when angered. On her silver haired head was a circlet of black and ruby. Halion had said it was fit for a woman of her power and status. A true queen among men. For she was a Fëanorian! And they deserved only the best.

"What is your plan then? For when news reaches Gondor of our amassing army, they will send many to destroy us," Tinneth reminded him, pacing back and forth in the fortress of Carn Dûm.

Halion smiled. "That is where you come in, Lady Tinneth."

"What an I to do," she asked.

With a smirk he leaned forward from where he sat in the throne of Carn Dûm. "Travel to Mount Gundabad. We will need the orcs and wargs for our army."

"Of course, Black Hand," she bowed to Halion before leaving the throne room and heading to find a contingent of Angmarin soldiers to take with her to Gundabad.


	13. More Than a Sword

That night, Elfwine slept fitfully. For hours he lay awake, staring up at the beautiful carven wood that was the ceiling. He watched the tapestries along his walls blow in the wind of his open window. He listened to the occasional neigh of the horses far below Meduseld or the chirping of crickets outside his home. Finally the teenage boy threw off his covers in frustration and sat up.

Elfwine cast his gaze over to the table at the far end of his room. There, atop the table still in its scabbard, was his sword. Guthwinë, _Battle-friend_ in Rohirric, had once belonged to his father, Éomer. But now that Éomer bore Herugrim, the ancient sword of royalty in Rohan, Elfwine wielded his father's former blade.

He stood from his bed, slipping into soft slippers, and walked slowly over to the sword. Gently he placed his hands on it, one on the scabbard, one on the hilt. With a swift movement, he drew it forth. The moonlight shining in through the window glinted off the steel blade and cast light around the room.

" _You will see battle again someday, my friend_ ," he thought with a smirk. " _You and I will do great deeds in the North!"_

He ran a hand over the flat of the sword. This sword was the sword that had battled the legendary Uruk-hai of Saruman at Helm's Deep. It had slaughtered orcs of Sauron on the Pelennor Fields. It had defended the Free Peoples at the Morannon.

" _Now,"_ he thought bitterly, " _you sit idly on my table or strapped to my waist."_

He swung his sword at an invisible enemy to his left.

" _Just as Eldarion and Aderthon showed me_ ," he smiled to himself.

Back and forth he danced lightly, careful not to creak the floorboards or hit his furniture. Back and forth like a pendulum he flew. His golden hair flashed around his face, the golden hair of his father, of his people.

At last he stopped. The moon was sinking low in the sky and he had yet to sleep more than an hour. With reverence, Elfwine sheathed Guthwinë.

" _Do not worry, my friend. We will slay real foes soon enough."_

That morning, the fellowship met up yet again in the great hall of Meduseld. That morning just the royal family and the travellers were there, eating a healthy breakfast before the fellowship was to set off towards Helm's Deep. King Éomer told them many things.

"As you know already, perhaps, Erkenbrand's son Elden is now Marshal of the West Mark. He took the position over when his father died a few years back." Éomer looked sadly at those around him. "We miss the Lord terribly, but his son is an excellent leader. Anyways, you should find him at Helm's Deep. He himself was visiting the dwarves of the Glittering Caves to ask then about constructing a new fortification."

After breakfast, the royal couple walked them down to the stables. With a sad smile, Lothiriel hugged her children quickly. Éomer nodded to them firmly.

"Listen to Eldarion," Éomer insisted. "Especially you, Elfwine."

The boy stood at attention and nodded. He felt his hand around the hilt of Guthwinë and took comfort in knowing that it might actually get some use in the coming months. They _would_ be heading through Moria after all.

"Good luck to you all," the king bowed his head slightly in respect and good fortune. "Do us proud."

They all bowed and thanked the monarchs. Stable workers had brought out their steeds and they mounted up. The journey needed to continue. It was time.

"What's the pace for today, Eldarion?" Aderthon asked as he rode up beside his best friend.

"I figure we might gallop a bit, get the horses moving. I'd like to reach Helm's Deep by late tomorrow night. Midnight perhaps." Eldarion urged his stallion out into the rolling fields of Rohan.

Fëalas instantly took off, Elfwine not far behind. The others laughed and shook their heads before following. Evidently Fëalas had wanted to gallop also.

The green rolling grasses passed them by as the sped onwards. Taking periodic breaks allowed them all much needed breathers, especially for the horses. Edeva fed her horse an apple once, sneaking it from the food pack.

Her horse was a brilliant white mare. The filly of a lesser Mearas, her horse Snowheart wasn't quite as strong or fast as Greymane, but she was of royal horse blood nonetheless. So she deserved an apple every now and then.

Edeva loved her horse, as all Rohirrim did. She had raised Snowheart since the filly had been born and now the horse was a brilliant mare that almost kept up with her cousin Greymane. Only Mearas were fit for royalty of Rohan.

They made good time, camping out at last that night when the moon was high. Barahir and Círeth were on guard first.

Barahir yawned as he settled down at last. "There's nothing out there. Haven't been for a long time. All the servants of the Dark Lord have gone into hiding."

"Can never be too careful," shrugged Círeth. "It is good we have guards. Ruffians may not serve Sauron, but they are just as evil. And they _do_ exist."

Barahir shrugged. He supposed she was right. He seldom got called to do more than defend his country from thieves or other minor criminals. Emyn Arnen and the rest of Ithilien was peaceful countryside. He acknowledged that Círeth, being a ranger captain on the borders, saw more combat and violence than he.

"What was that?" Círeth murmured an hour later, gazing out into the night.

She and Barahir stood slowly and drew their weapons, he his sword and she her bow. Notching and arrow on the string, she looked sharply out where she'd seen movement.

Suddenly from beside them on their left they heard a twig snap. Whipping their heads that way, Círeth pointed her bow straight at a man carrying a dagger.

"Don't move," she hissed angrily. "Drop the weapon."

He looked frightened and did as he was told. Barahir ran off and pulled another two men from the tickets at sword point. They pushed the three together just as the others began to wake.

"Please!" begged the first man. "Spare us!"

"Why should we?" Círeth glared. "You tried to rob us!"

Eldarion and Elfwine stepped over to Círeth and Barahir. Eldarion cocked his head and looked the thieves over before turning to Elfwine.

"This is your country," he told him. "It is your choice."

Elfwine hesitated. He looked at the men and knew they would probably attack another traveling party as soon as they were out of reach. He would be protecting others by ending these criminals' lives.

He drew his sword and stepped forward.

"Do you see this sword," he said angrily. "This is Guthwinë! This is the sword that fought side by side with King Elessar of Gondor! This is the sword that once belonged to your king and now belongs to me, his son!"

The thieves cowered beneath his blade, sure they were about to meet their end. Elfwine raised his blade and brought it down.

Right in the ground before them.

"Remember that this is also the sword that spared you. But I will not hesitate to kill you if we catch you thieving again. I will alert Lord Elden of your crimes and he will obey my decree that you should die if you commit another one."

They thanked him over and over again. Elfwine ordered they turn over their weapons and they obeyed.

"Leave now." He pointed off into the distance. "Return whence you came."

The thieves scuttled off quickly, fleeing before their prince. Elfwine took a deep breath and turned to Eldarion.

"Was that the right choice?" He asked uncertainly, sounding like the teenage boy he was once more.

Eldarion smiled and shrugged. "Perhaps. Who can know? But it is what I would have done."

Elfwine grinned and nodded. He had done like the man he looked up to the most. That, he could live with.


	14. Arrival at Helm's Deep

It was midnight the next day when they finally caught sight of the great fortress of Helm's Deep. Eldarion, Elfwine, and Aderthon trotted up in front of the others to the great gates. The others came behind, three abreast. When at last they came upon the gates, a great shout was heard.

"Who goes there?"

"Prince Elfwine and his companions," Elfwine called back firmly.

Immediately the gates were heaved open and they rode on through. They were met by a set of guards. The leaders stepped forward and bowed.

"Prince Elfwine," he said. "We are honored by your visit. Lord Elden is currently asleep, but we will make chambers for you immediately. Who are the rest of your guests?"

Elfwine dismounted. "Prince Eldarion of the Reunited Kingdom, my sister, Lady Edeva, Lords Elboron, Aderthon, and Barahir, and ladies Finduilas, Círeth, and Fëalas. We journey North."

The guards all looked in wonder upon the royal set of visitors before them. All had dismounted and followed Elfwine and the first guard as they made their way to a stable for their horses.

"We shall alert Lord Elden to your arrival come morning," the guard bowed as he had at last led the group to a barracks room that was set aside for them.

Elfwine nodded. "Thank you. What is your name, good sir?"

"Theon, sir," he replied. "If you need anything else, you need only send for me."

Leaving them, the nine companions all climbed into the not very comfortable beds. It was better than sleeping on the hard ground, but they missed the guest houses of Edoras. Yet they knew they could not be picky.

All slept soundly that night.

Elfwine, Eldarion, and Edeva went early to meet with Lord Elden in the citadel. He quickly invited them in with a bow.

"My Lords and Lady," he nodded. "I am honored by your visit!"

Lord Elden was a very tall man, his blonde hair dirtied by the hard work he so often was seen doing. He couldn't have been much over thirty five years old. He was a spitting image of his father Erkenbrand. Known in Rohan for his noble and hard working countenance, Elden was loved by his people.

"Lord Elden," Elfwine smiled. "We thank you for housing us. We are here to visit the dwarves of the Glittering Caves."

"We journey North on my father's orders," Eldarion explained quickly.

Elden nodded curtly to the two princes. "And so you shall. I am set to visit with the dwarves later today. Please, join me."

"We shall," Elfwine agreed.

Later that day, Círeth and Fëalas were busy getting themselves in trouble. The two rangers had done their very best to climb as high as they could up scaffolding from the ground up. And now, they couldn't get down.

"This was your fault," Círeth growled at her sister.

" _My_ fault?" glared Fëalas. "In what world?!"

They slowly edged their way to the side of the scaffolding. A gentle but far drop down and they landed on the walls.

"Oof," grunted Fëalas as she rolled after jumping.

"What are you two ladies doing?" called a guard who looked rather put out. "Get off the wall!"

"We are guests of Lord Elden," Fëalas explained as she waited for Círeth to jump after her.

The guard looked at them skeptically, especially as the second red haired woman leapt down and grunted in pain and exertion.

"What are your names?" He insisted after several moments.

"Ladies Círeth and Fëalas, Captains of Gondor's Dúnedain, nieces of the King."

The guard took a step back and bowed his head. "My apologies."

"Cír, Fëalas!" came a call from below. "What are you doing up there?"

They looked and saw Aderthon below them on the ground behind the Deeping Wall where the stream let out.

"Sight seeing," Círeth called back with a smirk.

Aderthon rolled his eyes but beckoned to them. "Come on! We've got work to do!"

They sighed but quickly went to a stairwell that led down to where their brother was. Down they walked, finally reaching Aderthon.

"Come on. We're supposed to meet Elfwine and Eldarion with the others in a few minutes to go see the Dwarves." Aderthon said.

He and his sisters made their way to the entrance of the Glittering Caves. There they found their fellowship, plus Lord Elden, ready to enter when bidden.

Lord Elden rang a large bell that sat beside the gate to the Dwarves' halls. It sounded like ancient music as it reverberated through the cave system. Soon a dwarf, small yet strong, opened the gate. His dark hair was thick and voluminous.

"Come in, come in!" He grinned widely as he saw the group. "Lord Gimli is expecting some of you at least!"

They smiled and thanked him, walking into the Glittering Caves. They most all had the same reactions. Foremost they were shocked by the beauty of the caves.

The grey brown walls were uneven but beautiful in their own way. Great sections of gold, ruby, and jade decorated the otherwise simple walls. Great lamps with roaring fires cast dancing shadows along the paths. The ceiling was very tall and the paths straight. On the left side were rooms and houses cut into the stone, on the right were storefronts. It was an entire city under the mountains.

At last, after traveling along the underground road for nearly a mile, they reached a great citadel of rock. There waiting for them before it was a dwarf with red hair and a merry face. He smiled when he caught sight of them. Upon his head was a subtle crown of mithril and gold. Lord Gimli of the Glittering Caves.

"My Lords and Ladies," he said with a grin. "I was not expecting all of you, but glad I am that you are here!"

"Lord Gimli," bowed Elden. "It is good to see you again."

"You as well, Lord Elden!" He caught sight of the Gondorians then. "Do I see Prince Eldarion, and the children of Miril and Elrohir?"

The four grinned widely and stepped forward. Gimli laughed merrily. For while he didn't know the others well, he certainly knew these four.

"Gimli," Eldarion smiled. "My father sends his regards."

"Good! Good!" Gimli clapped his hands. "Now. Let's go inside and talk."


	15. Dwarven Wisdom

They climbed the carven stone steps that wound their way up through the underground citadel. They at last reached an upper room where a balcony opened up out over the town below. All manner of maps and plans were displayed across the walls and tables. A small forge and a small workbench were located at one side of the hall-like room. Gimli pulled out some chairs from various tables and set them around the largest one. Yet still a few had to stand.

"I apologize for the lack of seating," Gimli frowned slightly. "Had I known you all were coming along with Lord Elden, I would've made arrangements."

"Nonsense, Gimli," Eldarion laughed. "It is fine."

With a nod Gimli continued. "Now. I know why _you_ are here, Lord Elden. I have drawn up plans already for the new town walls you have requested. Shall we start with that?"

Elden shook his head with a smile, standing. "I have a feeling that the more important matters lie with my Prince and his company. If there is somewhere I may wait, I shall let them speak first."

The dwarf lord nodded. "Of course. Frorin should be outside. He can show you to a room."

With a bow, Elden bid them farewell and left the room. Gimli turned back to the others.

"It is good to see you," he nodded with a strained smile. "Yet I think I can guess somewhat the purpose of this visit. For I was here when the news of Lady Tinneth's disappearance arrived."

Eldarion sighed but affirmed his suspicions. "Indeed. One part of our quest involves my cousin."

"Aragorn is sending you North then?" Gimli looked at them in surprise. "All of yeh?"

Again, Eldarion nodded. "This quest is dangerous. My father used the Palantír of Minas Tirith to gaze North. He suspects that there is evil growing swiftly in the North and he is sending us to investigate."

"Could he not just ask the Wardens of Annuminas. After all, don't they have the other surviving Palantír?" Gimli looked somewhat confused.

Aderthon frowned and answered. "Unfortunately, some years ago the Palantír of Annuminas was stolen by a man cloaked in black. He overpowered the guards with sorcery and took it into Angmar. In fact, Tinneth's last visit South was to relay that information."

Gimli pursed his lips. "Well now. That's unfortunate. So communication North and South is crippled. That is bad."

They all frowned and nodded. It _was_ bad. It was difficult enough ruling a two part kingdom, but it was also at least a two month journey between the two lands.

"So. Why do you need _my_ help?" Gimli asked them. "Why did Aragorn send you to me?"

"We are hoping to travel… under the mountains." Círeth explained.

Gimli shut his eyes in painful memory but he nodded and looked at them. "Moria is still a dark place, children. It will be dangerous."

"But Lord Gimli, aren't the dwarves there, recolonizing it?" Barahir asked in concern.

"Lord Barahir, correct? Son of Eowyn and Faramir?" Gimli looked at him in scrutiny. "Aye, they are. They've taken the Twenty-First Hall and many of the upper levels. But there are still thousands of goblins in the deeps."

"At least the Balrog is no more," Aderthon pointed out.

"True." The dwarf nodded. "But neither is Rivendell. There will be no waiting, no healing until you reach as far North and West as your destination."

"If it were not already Fall, we could perhaps take the High Pass," Eldarion mused, pacing back and forth. "Yet the Beornings are not as friendly towards strangers as they were in Grimbeorn's day, according to my father and uncles. Also the winds and the storms will be heavy that high in the mountains."

"Why not go up through Dunland?" asked Gimli.

Eldarion sighed and shook his head. "My mother and sister, Amdirien. They are too deep in treaty and peace negotiations with Dunland for us to risk jeopardizing that by trespassing."

"The Pass of Caradhras will have the same problems as the High Pass." Gimli murmured to himself. "Well. Moria it is I suppose."

For several moments, each was lost in his or her own thoughts. But soon enough, Eldarion drew them out of their stupor when he spoke.

"Gimli, great friend of my father." He bowed his head in respect. "May we ask of you a favor?"

"Of course," he nodded. "Name it."

"Will you give us some sort of …document that approves our passage through Moria?" Eldarion frowned.

With a smile, Gimli nodded immediately. "Of course. It will be ready in the morning. Now. I insist you stay here in the Glittering Caves today and tonight. Please, be our guests."

With smiles and nods they all agreed instantly. Helm's Deep had hardly been the most comfortable of places to stay.

And so they explored the underground town all the rest of that day. Gimli was mostly busy with Lord Elden, but he had entrusted us into the care of his son, Nim.

Nim was a young dwarf, only 30 years of age. His beard had yet to grow in more than stubble and his eyes were bright with enthusiasm, something he shared with his father. His mother, who the company had yet to meet, was Nora, he told them. She had grown up with Gimli under Erebor.

They enjoyed their little tour from Nim, but soon it came time for sleep. The dwarf lordling showed them to their houses for sleeping and bid then goodnight. They slept soundly.

Except for Eldarion.

After tossing and turning for a few hours, Eldarion tiptoed out of bed, past Aderthon, slipped on his cloak and some shoes, and made his way out into the city. It was quiet and the crystal lamps were dimmer. He sighed and walked down the stairs to the road.

Aglarond was beautiful. This certainly was true. But he had much to think of other than how incredible the light looked bouncing off the gems and precious metals in the walls. He had to think about the future, and that always made him unsettled. For he was gifted, _cursed perhaps_ , with the gift of foresight like his grandfather, and to a lesser extent his father. He could not see the future, he could not see all ends.

What he did know, what he _felt_ rather than _saw,_ was that there was blood and war to come. Something bad was waiting for them in the North, and he could tell. Just as his father must've known. It was not Moria they needed to worry about. It was Arnor. It was the _North_.

"Eldarion?" A voice came from behind where he stood at the edge of the road, looking down where the town wove beneath him.

He turned and saw Gimli standing therein concern.

"Gimli," nodded Eldarion with a thin smile. "What are you doing awake?"

"I was about to ask you the same, lad." He beckoned for Eldarion to follow. "Come, follow me. You look mighty troubled."

The two walked side by side up the stairs the Prince had been led earlier. At the top they reached the room he'd been in and Gimli told him to continue on in.

"Sit." Gimli told him to do so as the dwarf grabbed to tankards and filled them will ale from a keg before plunking himself down across from Eldarion and passing one over. "What's the matter."

Eldarion sighed. "There is much that is the matter. Not least of all the trouble that awaits us in the North."

Gimli smirked as he drank his ale. "You're just like your father. Always worrying. Always dreading the next heartache. Admirable, but foolish."

"Oh?" Eldarion raised an eyebrow as he too took a sip.

Gimli nodded. "Aragorn was always so… troubled. He would often stare off into the night thinking of the dangers tomorrow would surely bring. Now. I don't doubt that's important in a good leader, it is! But you need to take a step back."

Eldarion downcast his eyes and nodded. "I know. But I worry for my friends."

Gimli smiled softly. "I know. But they are warriors, just like you are yourself. You arent children anymore, except maybe that Rohirric princeling. You are a great leader of men!"

Eldarion smiled lightly. "Thank you, Lord. You do me great honor."

Gimli scoffed. "Also like Aragorn, you are maybe a bit _too_ honorable."

They laughed together and drank their ales. Eldarion very much enjoyed Gimli's company. He always had. He remembered Gimli coming to visit Minas Tirith as a child and throughout his teenage years, before the dwarf had settled down completely in Aglarond.

"Now. It is, as you say, very likely that danger and death lies before you in the North." Gimli nodded to him. "But there is naught you can do but face it with a stout heart. So do not trouble yourself today."

Eldarion nodded lightly and looked at his ale. He knew Gimli was right. All of a sudden his eye landed on a framed piece of art above the mantle of Gimli's main desk.

"What is that?" he asked the dwarf lord.

Gimli beamed with pride but his eyes were sad. "That is the gift your great grandmother gave to me when we departed Lothlorien. Three strands of her golden hair."

Eldarion looked at it in amazement, getting up and approaching it. "I wish I'd known her."

"She was very wise. She would likely tell you the same things I just did," Gimli said, laying a hand on his arm. "Now. Get some rest, Prince of the Reunited Kingdom."

And so he did.


	16. At the Fords of Doom

**Now - Rohan**

It was morning, but the group was only able to tell this by the brightly lit lamps along the streets and the bustle of dwarves with places to be. The group stood on a balcony of a common room above the bustle. Below, they caught sight of a few slighter dwarves with smaller beards walking here and there with dwarflings.

"Are those… dwarven women?" Elfwine said this discreetly to his companions from where they stood and watched the busy road.

Eldarion shrugged. "Perhaps? I have yet to meet one."

"Well you're about to."

They all were caught off guard by the pleasant voice that came from behind them. When they turned, they found themselves looking at three dwarves. Two they knew already: Gimli and his son Nim. But the third, the one who had spoken, was unknown to them.

"This is Nora, my wife," Gimli smiled.

The companions all gaped. A dwarf woman! She was smaller than Gimli, both in height and girth, but not by much. She had brown hair drawn in braids and a small braided beard. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

"Oh don't look so surprised," Nora huffed, folding her arms. "Surely you expected to meet one of us _someday_."

"We are at your service, Lady Nora," Eldarion bowed deeply. "The pleasure is all ours."

She laughed. "You weren't kidding, love. This one _is_ mighty full of honor."

Eldarion cocked an eyebrow at the male dwarf in question but said nothing.

"I, of course, am at your service as well, sons and daughters of mannish kings." Nora smiled. "Yes, I know who you are. Gimli has told me about most of you."

Gimli nodded. "Legolas has too."

"Father," Nim begged. "May I go North with them?"

Nora stomped her foot. "Nim I told you no already. By Mahal's hammer and anvil, you better take 'no' for an answer!"

Gimli shrugged. "Listen to your mother."

Elfwine frowned. Why shouldn't Nim go? He wasn't that much younger than he in relative age. Yet he knew it was not his place to object, and he was somewhat afraid of this dwarven woman.

"We should be going soon," Aderthon sighed. "The sooner we depart, the sooner we will reach Isengard."

Eldarion nodded. "Unfortunately Aderthon, you speak truly."

"We've restocked your horses. And I wrote you the note you wanted." Gimli handed the prince a scroll of parchment. "That should carry some weight with the expedition."

The group, accompanied by the dwarves, made their way through the long walk to the exit at Helm's Deep. There they picked up the horses.

"Gimli," Eldarion smiled. "We cannot thank you enough for your help."

"Any time, lad. I'll let Aragorn know you passed this way just fine." The dwarf laid a hand on Eldarion's arm. "Stay safe. That goes for all of you."

"Of course," he said with a bow. "Farewell, all of you!"

Gimli, Nora, and Nim waved to them as they led their horses out of the entrance to the Glittering Caves towards Helm's Deep. The quick ride up to the walls was short-lived. Once there they bid farewell to Lord Elden and left the stronghold once and for all.

"North we go," sighed Aderthon. "To the Treegarth of Isengard."

"To see the ents!" Fëalas added this immediately.

This brightened everyone's spirits instantly. They were going to see the ents! With this added enthusiasm, they rode hard for the remainder of that day. They stopped at the Fords of Isen come nightfall.

Elfwine and Edeva grew quiet as they set up camp at the ford. A great stone sat there, a monument to the fallen soldiers from the war. The two Rohirrim walked up to it with reverence.

Edeva laid her hand upon it. "Long may they sleep."

Elfwine remained silent, bowing his head in respect. He was all too familiar with the story of these fords, at which their uncle, Théodred, was slain while holding back the forces of Saruman. It was here that the spears of the fallen had stood for decades. Before eventually falling into dust. And then the stone had been placed there, so that no one would ever forget.

The others quietly watched them, saying nothing. Eventually they built a small fire and cooked a meal of venison. Elfwine and Edeva remained quiet throughout the night. This place was a dark reminder of the violent times before the peace of the Fourth Age.

The children had known nothing different. Of all the descendants of the great heroes, only Círeth, Fëalas, and Finduilas as members of the Southern Dunédain encountered resistance and violence on a regular basis. The others were trained for it, and had experienced some of it. But it was nothing like the previous age. It was nothing like what their parents had experienced.

"Barahir, Elboron. First watch," Eldarion said. "Then wake me and Aderthon."

They nodded. One by one the others lay down for sleep, leaving the brothers to keep watch.

"Are you excited to journey north, brother?" Barahir asked Elboron quietly.

His brother sighed. "Excited? Perhaps a little. I am looking forward to seeing new lands. But I am worried for our safety, and the safety of the free lands."

Barahir nodded quietly. "Yes. As am I."

"I fear there is much amiss in the North." Elboron watched the area around them, intent on keeping a safe watch despite the conversation.

* * *

**Now - Angmar**

Tinneth yawned and stretched. It was the seventh day since she and her three companions had left Carn Dûm. They were set on approaching Mount Gundabad by late afternoon.

"Moramarth," Tinneth barked at the young man with dark hair and beady dark eyes. "Get up!"

"Of course, lady Tinneth!" He scrambled up and began getting the horses ready as two other men prepared breakfast.

"They know we are coming, yes?" Tinneth asked Dúnir.

The old man nodded. "They should indeed."

"Good. Because I intend to live through today."

"As do we all," Dúnir assured her. "As for we all."

After eating a quick breakfast of venison, they all hopped up on their horses and set off. The terrain was rocky at the base of the mountains, and not much grew there. What did was often poisonous, but Tinneth knew her herbs and plants from her years with the Dunedain.

Suddenly out of a rare group of trees rode three warg riders.

"Halion sent a woman?" chuckled an orc. "We do not treat with weaklings.

Tinneth narrowed her eyes. She was no weakling.


	17. Treegarth of Isengard

**Now - Angmar**

Mount Gundabad wasn't exactly the most welcoming of places. While certainly nicer than say, Goblin Town, the former dwarf stronghold turned orc-hold was an absolute mess. Tinneth sniffed and wished she could plug her nose. She had left her horse outside and proudly held her head high as she walked forward on foot, her three companions just ahead of her. Several goblin guards chittered and chattered behind when she walked past, and wargs growled at her presence. But she met all with a stare to silence them. She was an heir to the Noldorin crown. She was a Fëanorian!

The passageway she was led down was dark except where lit by fiery sconces. She saw goblins everywhere and they looked at her in wonder. Evidently word of her imminent arrival had gone before the travellers. They were expected.

Tinneth held no love for goblins. She knew of what they were: abominations, spawn of Morgoth's corruption. But they would serve her purposes well enough. Hers and Halion's.

"Welcome, child, to Mount Gundabad," came a deep, powerful voice as they walked into a large hall. " _My_ you are a pretty one. For a half she-elf."

Tinneth looked up from her musings to see a large goblin, lean and strong. He had on his head a crown of bones. She cocked an eyebrow. He certainly looked powerful… for an orc.

"Ozim, Lord of Gundabad, I presume," she nodded her head. "I expect you to address me as Lady Tinneth. Not as _child_."

He narrowed his eyes and walked down from his throne of iron. He was almost Tinneth's height, oddly tall for an orc. He glared at her.

But then he laughed. "Of course, _Lady Tinneth_. I shall show you the respect you have earned."

"Earned?" Tinneth frowned in confusion.

Ozim nodded. "Your deadly excursions against the Rangers and Wardens a couple months ago is well known to me."

Tinneth smirked. "They had it coming. I need them dead to bring my _family_ here."

The orc king nodded and looked her over hungrily. "What's this from?"

He ran his hand sensually over a large scar, newly made, that ran from under her eye down to her ear across her cheek. She instantly grabbed his wrist.

"You may be a king," she growled. "But you will not touch me like that."

He smiled, the malic in his eyes obvious to everyone. Tinneth's three companions moved closer to protect their lady, but she motioned for them to back off.

"My _apologies_ , Lady Tinneth." Ozim licked his teeth. "Now. I heard you are here to beg of us help."

"I will not beg, Lord," she said, shaking her head. "We ask, request. _Offer_. Halion is gathering an army to assault the North, to take it back. He needs more men, and in return is offering you a chance at vengeance for the defeat at the Battle of Five Armies all those many years ago."

"A tempting offer, certainly." Ozim nodded. "But I want something… more."

"Oh?" Tinneth looked at him expectantly.

Ozim smiled. "I want to taste she-elf. Bring me one once we've won, one of your kinsmen. Let me have her."

Tinneth didn't even hesitate. "Done."

"Then it's settled," Ozim nodded. "I pledge five thousand goblins to your cause. And five hundred wargs."

"How long will it take to be ready?" Tinneth asked him.

Ozim shrugged. "Three, maybe four months. Should take Halion that long to organize and train his own."

"Agreed."

* * *

**Now - Rohan / Isengard**

When midday came and the fellowship trotted their horses through the thick forest that they'd come upon, they were all quivering with excitement. For this forest was the Treegarth of Isengard. Treebeard had turned it into one of his ent houses.

"Do you think Treebeard will be here?" Fëalas asked Eldarion as she rode between her brother and the prince.

Eldarion shrugged. "I do not know. I hope so!"

So did they all. Last time Aragorn or the other parents had been to Orthanc had been over twenty years ago. What remained of the original Fellowship had met to reminisce about lost times and talk about current events.

"Who do we have here?"

A slow, calm voice like water falling into a deep pool sounded to their right. They all halted and turned to see who it was.

A tall, slender ent stood there, eyes bright and curious. He swayed, looking them over.

"Treebeard?" Elfwine ventured the question on all their hearts.

The ent laughed. "Nay! I am Quickbeam in the common speech. But who are you? I see you are men, some with elven blood."

Eldarion dismounted and bowed deeply to Quickbeam. "Lord! We are a company sent by Aragorn Elessar Telcontar. He is my father. I am Eldarion, of the Reunited Kingdom."

"Hm, are you now?" The ent's eyes grew wide. "Welcome. And the rest of your companions?"

"Aderthon, son of, and Fëalas and Círeth, daughters of, Míril Fëanoriel. Elfwine and Edeva, children of King Éomer. Elboron, Barahir, and Finduilas of Prince Faramir." Eldarion went through introductions quickly.

Quickbeam looked them over curiously for a long while, saying nothing. Finally he nodded.

"Hmmm. Well. This is news indeed." Quickbeam laughed. "Come! I will take you to Treebeard. He is further into the Treegarth."

"Thank you," Eldarion nodded, mounting his horse once more.

The riders followed the surprisingly fast ent through the trees. They came eventually to what was a broken wall and gate. Piles of rubble sat there, but they were covered in foliage now that slowly broke the rocks down further. Quickbeam led them inside the ring and they saw before them, behind the trees, the Tower of Orthanc.

"Oh wow," Finduilas breathed.

Barahir and Elboron, to either side of her, echoed her. The huge black tower was menacing yet enticing. They knew the stories; Saruman had lived here. The traitorous Istari had created his armies of Uruk-hai here. All governed from that black tower.

Quickbeam gave a horn like sound that filled the circle. The trees quivered as if under a breeze. They waited. Would Treebeard appear?

"Homm, humm," came a voice behind them like a deep horn. "What have we here, Quickbeam?"

"Lords and Ladies of the West," answered the younger ent.

They all turned to see a large ent, broad shouldered, with grey and green hair for his beard. His eyes were old and full of knowledge. The company was stunned silent.

Treebeard.


	18. Lost Lore and Trinkets

"Hoom, hum," Treebeard trumpeted, looking over the fellowship with his large, caring eyes so full of depth and memory. "And which lords and ladies?"

Eldarion stepped forward. "I am Eldarion, son of Aragorn."

Treebeard raised his large bushy eyebrows in surprise. "Are you now? _Hmm_. Interesting."

Eldarion went on to introduce his companions. As he went through each companion, Treebeard's expression slowly grew to one of wonder and curiosity.

"Well this certainly is unexpected." The ent nodded slowly. "Hm. Yes. _Very_ unexpected."

"It is a honor to meet you, Lord Treebeard," Aderthon bowed low to the ancient ent.

Treebeard tilted his head a tiny bit, for he was not very bendable, and looked at Aderthon slowly and silently for a long while. The fellowship felt slightly uncomfortable under the strong and unwavering gaze of the old ent. But at last Treebeard laughed.

"Is it? Well then, I suppose King Aragorn raised his children and their friends to honor the wild, to honor nature. Good! Good!" Treebeard laughed again. "Come! Follow me. Quickbeam, you may leave us now."

The younger ent nodded and strode off back to his post among his favorite Rowan trees. Meanwhile, Treebeard led the fellowship closer to the Tower of Orthanc. Just as they approached the tower, the ent took them to the right. There they came across a pool fed by a small offshoot of the Isen. Treebeard motioned for them to sit near it upon the stones as he stood in the pool itself.

"This is the Treegarth. It has become my most frequented Hall," Treebeard explained. "You are most welcome here."

"Thank you, Lord," Eldarion bowed.

Treebeard laughed long. "Lord? Nay. I am just Treebeard. Well, that is what you should call me."

They looked at him in confusion. He smiled.

"My entish name is _much_ too long for you hasty folk to pronounce." Treebeard closed his eyes and raised his arms as if stretching and remained still for many minutes.

Elfwine began to wonder whether he had fallen asleep. Similar thoughts were running through the majority of the company's minds. Eventually even Eldarion began shuffling his feet. But at last, the old ent opened his big, deeply wise eyes once more.

"Now then," Treebeard nodded. "Tell me why you are here, young ones."

They all turned to Eldarion and nodded. As leader of the company, it would be up to him to decide what to share.

"Many weeks ago, my father received a message from the north." Eldarion began at the very beginning. "It said that my cousin, daughter of Miril and Elrohir, Tinneth, had gone missing."

With a pause, he continued. "We waited to see if any more news was to come, but nothing came. My father decided we should head North for he also suspects something deeply sinister is forming up there."

Treebeard nodded and blinked his eyes. "Well that is news indeed. The lady Tinneth has gone missing?"

"You knew her?" Aderthon asked in surprise.

Treebeard shook his head. "I did not 'know' her. That would be a hasty claim indeed. I have spoken to her a few times. Whenever she would pass by on her way to Gondor. She was a troubled child."

Círeth snorted and rolled her eyes, whispering under her breath. "That's the understatement of the Fourth Age."

"Why does Lord Aragorn not use his Palantír to communicate north?" Treebeard mused a few minutes later after silence.

Eldarion hesitated. "The other Palantír, which was housed in Annuminas, was stolen several years ago. Communication has been crippled since then."

Treebeard nodded. He looked up at the sky.

"It is already late, my friends. We do not have man food here, but we have drafts which should tide you over." He reached down and filled a bowl with water that seemed to glow pale green before offering it to the fellowship.

Eldarion took the first sip. After a drink. He passed it to Aderthon who passed it along further. Once all had drunk of the ent draft, Treebeard told them that they were welcome to remain for the night.

Eldarion smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Treebeard. We will gladly take you up on your offer."

* * *

**Now - Angmar -** _**Carn Dûm** _

Halion paced in his chambers. Back and forth he went, his black leather boots clomping on the floor. His piercing amber eyes darted here and there as he looked around his room. The bed was ornate, but he didn't care about that. The real treasures were far smaller.

The books were the first of many wonderful things. There were books of forbidden knowledge of spells and sorcery, books of enchanting and smithing, books of lore that told accounts of the high days of Angmar. Then there were the genealogies. Mostly pertaining to secret knowledge he had managed to gather from tortured Dunedain, they told of the remaining Fëanorian bloodline, Tinneth's bloodline. It traced her back all eight generations to Caranthir the Dark, son of Fëanor son of Finwë.

When he first got wind of her troubled life in Gondor and her flight to the Dunedain of Arnor, he hadn't been able to believe his luck. A Fëanorian, one intent on fleeing her family. But also a Fëanorian who lusted for power and recognition. It was a match made by the Valar themselves.

 _Well, that isn't true_. He laughed to himself. _The Valar certainly wouldn't approve of my course of action._

He looked over at his other treasures. On his desk was the ring of power he had found. Likely forged by the smiths in Eregion during the Second Age, it did little but turn him invisible. Yet he enjoyed playing around with it.

Then there was the Palantír. His most prized possession, the Palantír he currently held was limited in power and scope, but did allow him to watch over the doings of his nearby foes, and, if he ever needed to, was able to communicate with the stone of Minas Tirith that Aragorn held.

Forged by Fëanor himself, the Palantír were priceless relics of days long since passed. He wondered often if Tinneth would be able to better control it than he, as a descendant of Lord Fëanor.

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Come!" Halion ordered, turning towardw the door.

It creaked open and in walked Tinneth. She undid her cloak and smiled. He looked at her in questioning. She nodded.

"They agreed."


	19. The Depths of Orthanc

Aderthon couldn't sleep. It wasn't that the ground was particularly uncomfortable, in fact the bed of soft grass beneath him was softer than usual. But he was so overwhelmed with curiosity about Orthanc that he couldn't get his mind to settle. He tossed and turned, back and forth, trying to find some respite.

Next to him on his left was his ever present best friend, Eldarion. He seemed to be asleep well enough. To his right was Elboron, another of his best friends and a man who was more often than not Aderthon's voice of reason when he got like this. But Elboron was also asleep.

Aderthon glanced over to where Treebeard was lying on his tall entish bed. He seemed asleep, too. Everyone was asleep.

 _Everyone but me_ , he sighed to himself as he sat up slowly. _Not that it's a surprise._

Aderthon glanced at the looming shape of the Tower of Orthanc. It was to his left, not too far. All he could make out in the night was the black silhouette against a similarly dark sky. It's massive presence inspired all sorts of emotions in his mind, especially that of curiosity and a little bit of fear.

Reaching behind his head, Aderthon grasped his cloak and fastened it around his neck. With great care he stood, silent, checking to make sure he had not awoken anyone. He grabbed his sword and a torch with some flint.

With a smile, he moved forward.

 _Just a peek. It's probably not even open._ In his mind he tried to rationalize his actions.

Gingerly he stepped around his sleeping companions. He ran his hand along the hilt of his sword in anticipation as the tower grew closer. Noting the entrance, Aderthon changed direction and came to it.

The tower was as black as he had always imagined Mount Doom had been. Reaching out, Aderthon put his hand gently to the stone. It was cold despite the relatively comfortable evening. Very smooth, too, was the stone that made Orthanc so strong.

 _Strange_ , he thought. _Very strange._

Aderthon approached the heavy looking door. He slowly reached his hand out, hesitating ever so slightly. But at last his curiosity overcame his better judgement and he grasped the handle with his right hand.

To his surprise, it opened gracefully. He held his breath as he walked into the dark tower. As he still held the door ajar, he took the flint and lit his torch. Now he was comfortable closing it behind himself.

In front of him was a large, winding staircase. To either side were doorways leading to a few rooms on the base level. The dancing flames of the torch caused strange shapes to appear on the walls, shadows dancing without rhythm.

Aderthon decided to head up the staircase. With each placement of his feet, he was sure he was going to wake his companions. For though he knew it was almost impossible, he was too far away now, it worried him a little.

 _It's not as though I'm doing something bad,_ he protested to himself. _I'm merely exploring._

Silently he blamed both his mother _and_ father for his streak of curiosity. He knew it would get himself killed someday, but he had a feeling that was not this day.

Reaching the second level, he found himself in some kind of study. Many chairs were here, and Aderthon wondered if this had been where his mother and Lord Aragorn had met with the members of the fellowship. For though Miril, his mother, had not been a member of the fellowship for more than ten days, she had made good friends with the remaining members.

He walked forward and saw a great black chair rooted in place, looking out of an open balcony. It was comprised of the same stone that Orthanc had been built out of.

 _Saruman's chair, perhaps?_ He wondered.

He went over to it carefully. Hesitantly he laid his hand upon the throne-like chair and felt its smooth texture. His body itched to sit in it.

 _And why not?_ He thought. _It's not as if anyone else has laid claim to it!_

And so he sat. It felt strange to him. It seemed almost too smooth, too comfortable. Immediately he stood out of it. Something wasn't quite right and he didn't intend to let it get inside his head.

"Aderthon!" came a whispered hiss behind him.

Aderthon leapt around and drew his sword. He pointed it toward the newcomer.

"Elfwine!" He sighed, sheathing his sword. "What are you doing in here?"

"What are _you_ doing in here?" bit back the younger man.

Aderthon rolled his eyes and came over to him. "I was exploring. Obviously."

"That's what I want to do!" The sixteen year old grinned in the torch light.

The half elf made a face but shrugged. "Fine. Then make yourself useful and carry the torch."

Elfwine gladly took the flaming torch from his mentor. Together they made their way around the room. Nothing much was here other than the chairs so they decided to head up again.

At the next level, Aderthon wrinkled his nose. Elfwine gasped as well. Torture equipment of various types were here. Without even speaking they simultaneously agreed to head up another flight.

At the third level, Aderthon smiled. They had reached the library.

"Come on, let's look!" He walked further in and noticed something. "Elfwine! There are still candles here. Light them, will you?"

Elfwine nodded and did as he was asked. He used the torch to light the candles, illuminating the room for both the men. Aderthon immediately pulled out a book from the shelves.

Its cover was dusty, so he blew lightly on it. Dirt and dust flew off in a cloud and he had to stifle a cough. The cover had in large golden Sindarin letters written in Tengwar script:

**"The Hands of the Enemy"**

Aderthon was intrigued. He took the book over to a table and sat down. Elfwine was still browsing. He was unable to read Sindarin so most of the books were illegible to him. But not for Aderthon.

He flipped through the pages gingerly. According to the date, this book had been written in the very late Third Age, perhaps fifteen or twenty years before the War of the Ring. The enemy was quickly named as Sauron, but the "Hands" were slightly more confusing.

* * *

" _The lidless eye spoken of by the orcs seems to have many servants other than these grunts. The wise know of the Nine, but others there were like the Mouth. Black Numenoreans mostly, there were two others in particular. Referred to simply as the "Hands", it was a mantle passed down for generations._

" _The Black Hand remained mostly in Mordor, doing the bidding of the master close to home. But the Red Hand was sent much farther. For after the defeat of the Witch King in Angmar, a resistance to the Good began to grow. The Red Hand was sent here._

" _Their powers are unrecorded. Their lives are elongated by Sauron himself, it is said. But other than that it is not known how much of himself is in them. Sorcery, certainly, they practice. Black magic taught to them by Sauron. They are also formidable swordsmen if the squealing of the orcs is to be believed._

" _Unfortunately at this time I am unsure of their names, either that of the Black or the Red Hand. Perhaps they don't have names at all. But, I will continue to research this matter until my last breath._

_-Saruman the White."_

* * *

Aderthon closed the book. He realized now it was more a notebook than a proper text, written by Saruman himself. Something told him it might be important. He slipped it into his pocket with care.

"Find anything?" he quietly asked Elfwine.

The lad shook his head with a big yawn.

Aderthon gave a small smile. "Come on. Let's get back to camp. I think we're both ready for a rest."


	20. Leaving Civilization

Barahir woke up first. He stretched his arms as he sat up, trying to wake himself up more. Next to him was Elboron and he noted that his brother was beginning to stir as well. The sun was peeping over the horizon, sending its golden rays across the sky.

"We should leave soon," Barahir whispered to his brother. "Though I know none of us are excited about it. We need to begin heading North."

Elboron nodded, rubbing his eyes. "You are right."

He turned to wake his friend, but found that Aderthon was not where he'd been before, on his left.

 _Odd,_ he thought to himself.

Looking around, Elboron caught sight of the man sitting on one of the large boulder. His back was to the company and his body language told he was deep in thought.

"Eldarion," Barahir coaxed gently, placing a hand on their leader's arm.

Eldarion shot up and blinked in the light. He shaded his vision and relaxed. Barahir smiled sadly and shrugged towards the East.

"Sun's rising," Barahir said as he gently woke the others.

Eldarion nodded, rubbing his face. "We need to get moving."

Meanwhile, Elboron was watching the still silent Aderthon. Finally he went up to his friend and climbed the boulder until he was next to him.

"What's got you awake, my friend?" Elboron looked at him curiously.

Aderthon sighed. "I can think only of my missing sister."

Elboron nodded sadly and glanced behind him to where Finduilas was waking.

"I do not know what I would do in your situation, if Fin was missing." He sighed. "But we must cling to hope that she is alright."

Aderthon nodded quickly. "The Valar will protect her."

"Come on," Elboron said as he gently smiled. "Let's get packed up. We need to move soon."

It was Fëalas who voiced the question first soon enough.

"Where's Treebeard?" Fëalas glanced around and spun in a circle looking for the old ent.

They all stopped their packing and looked around. A few moments later they heard the tell tale sounds of entish walking.

"Good! You are awake." Treebeard smiled. "I have brought your horses to you."

Behind him, nine horses followed, coaxed forward by Quickbeam behind them.

"We herd trees," they heard Quickbeam say. "Not horses."

Fëalas giggled at that comment. They all smiled and Eldarion stepped forward with a bow.

"Thank you, Treebeard. We must depart, as I am sure you realize." He sighed but smiled. "Your hospitality was a welcome respite."

Treebeard nodded. "Of course, young ones. Do be careful, and not too hasty. Things may not be entirely as they seem."

The company mounted their horses with many thanks for the two ents. Through the trees they trotted, Quickbeam guiding them out of the Treegarth. Once they left it, he turned to them and smiled, bowing.

"It has been an honor, Men of the West."

They echoed his sentiment and smiled. As Quickbeam turned away, they began the steady trek north towards Moria. But first they hoped to reach the next forest.

As they rode, small groups began to form. Eldarion, Elboron, and Aderthon, ever the leaders, drove the company forward in the front. Behind them went Barahir with Finduilas and Edeva. In the rear were Fëalas and Cireth with Elfwine. They were busy trying to keep Elfwine from riding up and interrupting the leaders. For they seemed to be having a deep, important conversation.

"I mean, yes. She's pretty?" Elboron shrugged, blushing slightly. "Why?"

Aderthon smirked. "I knew it."

"I called it first," Eldarion protested to his friend.

Elboron glared. "So I fancy the sister of Bergil. What of it!"

"Lalaith is a pretty one, and a smart one too," Eldarion shook his head. "We would be happy for you!"

Elboron shook his head and smiled with a roll of his eyes. "Come now. We have more pressing matters to deal with."

"What of it? We should reach the borders of Lothlorien by evening tomorrow." Eldarion could barely control his excitement.

"It is a pity it has been abandoned for so long," Elboron sighed. "I should've liked to see it in its glory."

"Indeed. The elves left how many years ago?" Aderthon nodded. "Thirty or so?"

"Something like that." Eldarion nodded.

They fell into a deep silence. None had ever met Galadriel, nor Celeborn. They had never been to Lothlorien. Their parents had always promised to take them there, but the children sensed that it was too touchy a subject, and too sad a prospect, so they'd never gone. The only child of the heroes of the War of the Ring to even travel anywhere north was Tinneth, and she had never been one to care about "old ruins" as she'd put it.

"Still, my heart yearns to see Lothlorien, even though it is long since decayed from its glory." Eldarion frowned slightly.

The other two echoed his sentiments.

"Eldarion," Aderthon began sometime later. "Will we not have to abandon the horses come Moria?"

The other half-elf sighed with a nod. "Indeed. Yet I hope that Greymane will lead them back home, at least to Rohan. He has an uncanny sense of direction and is incredibly smart."

The two other nodded. He spoke truly. Yet it would take its toll on the company both physically and psychologically. Elfwine would be loath to part with his equine companion. Yet there was no way a horse could get through Moria.

"How much further shall we ride today?" asked Elboron as the Sun was sinking below the horizon.

Eldarion looked unsure. "I would prefer to find some cover."

"Unlikely," Aderthon told him with a shake of his head. "We haven't passed a single tree since we left the outskirts of Fangorn behind a few hours ago."

Eldarion sighed. He knew they were right. He threw up his hand, calling for a halt.

"We'll rest here tonight." He dismounted his horse and waited for the others to follow.

They did so. Immediately the fellowship began setting out their packs, and Círeth foraged around in the food bags for a simple supper she could pass around. It was unlikely there would be any animals to hunt here.

"Elfwine, Edeva. Take first watch," Eldarion directed after dinner. "Wake Elboron and Aderthon. After them will be myself and Círeth."

Everyone nodded. As the rest of the company lay down to rest, Elfwine and Edeva took up their spots. Elfwine was in charge of the horses, making sure they didn't wander off. Edeva made sure she was able to listen in for any threats nearby. They were a good team, thought Edeva would've preferred it if Eldarion had let her little brother sleep instead of guard.


	21. Unwanted Conclusions

**A/N: I'm on vacation for the next eight days (Disney!) so updates may be sporadic and at odd hours haha. Also, I'd like to give an author shout out- CanuckleheadCowgirl. Go check her incredible Wolverine stories. She's my inspiration on FFN and I'm privileged enough to write with her in collabs!**

When Edeva woke Eldarion, he had been in the middle of a dream he could no longer recall. Something about dragons and rings and a sorcerer. A standard dream for him. He told Edeva to get some sleep, noting that her brother, having woken Aderthon, was already asleep.

Eldarion saw his best friend by the horses. His back was to the prince as he stood petting his horse's forehead and nose. Carroch was the name of his beautiful reddish brown stallion. His forehead was white and he had a brown nose. Aderthon adored him, Eldarion knew this.

"What are you thinking about, _mellon-nin_?" Eldarion asked, approaching his best and greatest friend.

Aderthon sighed and stopped petting his horse. He turned to face his friend and Eldarion saw the dark circles of many sleepless nights under Aderthon's eyes. He looked in concern at his friend.

"What are we doing, Eldarion?" sighed Aderthon. "What do we hope to accomplish?"

"You know exactly what is at stake," Eldarion said in confusion.

Aderthon gave a rueful smile but it soon dropped. "I want to hear it from you."

Eldarion folded his arms and nodded. "Very well. We are heading North to find a missing family member. We are scouting the North for potential danger. And we are exploring Middle Earth."

Aderthon nodded a tiny nod. "Right."

Eldarion put a hand on his close shoulder. "Dearest friend of mine, do not lose hope yet. We will find your sister, and then we will bring her home and we will rejoice together at her return."

"What if there is something else going on," Aderthon said after a brief hesitation, placing his hand in his pouch and feeling the notebook he had found.

Eldarion looked concerned. "In what way? What do you know?"

Aderthon drew out the small booklet and brought Eldarion back to the glowing fire. He sat down and beckoned for his friend to follow.

"I was unable to sleep last night," he explained. "I explored Orthanc and found this in the library."

Eldarion took it from him carefully and read the cover. He opened up Saruman's recorded text and read the first entry- the one Aderthon had read the night before.

"And you think this "Red Hand" has something to do with the darkness my father spoke of?" Eldarion looked into Aderthon's eyes in concern and contemplation.

He nodded but frowned. "There's more. And it gets worse."

Aderthon took the notebook and flipped a few entries forward. Handing it back to Eldarion, he frowned again and pointed to it.

* * *

" _I managed to gather more information from my spies that I sent north regarding the infamous Red Hand. But it has brought to light more information than I anticipated. According to my spies, the Red Hand has a fascination with the Fëanorian bloodline- a dangerous obsession._

" _Until now, I had been led to believe that the Fëanorian line had died out with Celebrimbor during the Second Age. But it seems this was incorrect. It appears that one still lives. I do not know what her name is, only that Gandalf, the fool that he is, has hidden her from the rest of the Order. She is among the Dunédain, it seems. And it seems that Sauron is hunting her._

" _I find it odd that the Red Hand is more interested in catching her than killing her, as his master has ordered. Is it possible that he acts of his own free will, or that the separation from Mordor and the direct will of the Master is weakened while he lives in Angmar._

" _Whatever happens, I have little doubt this Red Hand will do what he can to secure the cursed child. A Fëanorian in the right hands would be a powerful and deadly ally. Even one not of full elven blood as I suspect this one is._

" _I feel the most important thing is that this Red Hand appears to be operating independently of Sauron. This might be important if, and when, war breaks out._

_-Saruman the White"_

* * *

Eldarion stared at the pages for a long while. He slowly closed it and finally met Aderthon's troubled gaze.

He bit his lip. "You don't think…"

"I don't know." Aderthon rubbed his forehead. "What if that's what happened?"

"You don't think she…" Eldarion looked at him in shock. "But…"

Aderthon shook his head. "I don't want to think about the possibilities, but that possibility exists. But we cannot tell the others!"

Eldarion agreed quickly. "Hold onto this book, _mellon-nin._ Read it more closely and tell me what else you find."

Aderthon took it sadly and stowed it away. He would indeed keep reading it. Just as he thought the conversation was over, Eldarion broke the silence.

"Aderthon. If she is… if she has…" he stuttered, a rarity for him.

"Then it's our job to save her."

They returned to their watch for another hour before waking Círeth and Elboron. Elboron immediately knew something wrong, but said nothing. There would be time enough to ask tomorrow while they traveled if today had been any indication.

Círeth sat down, back to the fire, eyes front. Her half-elven hearing and training as a ranger made her one of their best lookouts. She fingered an arrow shaft, twirling it in her fingers. Elboron spent time petting the horses before he joined her.

"Quiet out there," he commented.

She nodded. "But it's a natural quiet. I can hear the birds and the insects."

He flashed a small smile and nodded. "True enough."

"You are an expert at reading people," she said suddenly, turning to Elboron next to her. "You always have been."

"So I've been told," he smiled.

She looked forward again. "What do you think of my sister?"

Elboron looked at her in confusion. "Fëalas? I know she fancies me, but-"

"No," smirked Círeth, shaking her head. "The _other_ one."

Silence fell between them. The chirping of crickets and grasshoppers sang in the night. The sky was clear and the full moon and stars cast their light down into the world below. Elboron took a deep breath and sighed.

"That is a complicated, and dare I say unfair question," he complained to the red head. "I haven't seen her in four years."

"Just try to answer."

Elboron sighed. "Very well. Tinneth is fierce and bold. She is headstrong, rebellious, and overconfident."

Círeth nodded slightly, looking down at the arrow she had stopped twirling.

"She is full of an anger I have seen nowhere else. Her spirit is fiery and it threatens to consume her." Elboron continued honestly. "She is rash and envious."

Círeth nodded slightly again, still looking at the arrow. "But she is my sister."

Elboron looked at her in shock. He swore that was the first time in ten years she had associated herself with her sister _as_ a sister. Quickly recovering he nodded.

"Indeed she is. Perhaps all she needs is a little love to remember that. Perhaps when we find her, she will remember that she _is_ loved." He smiled lightly at her. "We will find her, and then you can remind her that you are sisters."

"I have spent the last eleven years of my life hating my little sister. I can no longer deal with that burden," Círeth agreed. "If she asks, I will accept her back, I think."

Elboron smiled. "Let us find her first."


	22. Fleas

In the morning and after a quick, small breakfast, the company set off. Looking at the map again as they rode, Eldarion sighed and turned to his two companions, Elboron and Aderthon.

"I fear we haven't come quite as far as I'd expected. See that mountain peak over there?" He pointed to a double peaked mountain to the east. "We should've been far past that yesterday if we wanted to reach Lorien by sundown."

Aderthon nodded. "Indeed. Well, we can manage another night out in the open, I'm sure."

"Seems we don't have a choice," Eldarion agreed.

The horses marched on, their hoofbeats slow and steady as they moved. They had at least another ten days of food, plenty to reach Moria with. There they would restock and begin on foot. An arduous task perhaps, but a necessary one as had been discussed the previous day.

The scenery was green and brown, with short, stubby grass as far as the eye could see. The going wasn't particularly easy but it was manageable. Again, they rode in three groups.

"Have you practiced with a bow at all, Elfwine?" Fëalas asked the teenager as they rode in the far back together with Círeth.

Elfwine shrugged. "A little. Occasionally my trainers have me shoot, but not often."

Círeth made a face. "It's a useful skill! Rohan would do well to train their prince in ranged weaponry."

"I suppose," he nodded. "Mostly we focus on sword and double axe techniques. My sister has always preferred the axes, but I like the sword myself."

"You bear Guthwinë, do you not?" asked Fëalas. "The sword your father used."

Immediately Elfwine put his hand to the hilt of the legendary sword. He felt the leather wrapped handle and the rounded triangle at the end. He felt the deep scratches in the leather and wondered what made them.

"Indeed." He smiled almost to himself. "My father gave it to me last year on my fifteenth birthday."

"A kingly gift," Círeth praised. "Fit for a prince of Rohan."

"Has your mother or father passed on their sword yet?" Elfwine asked the twins.

Fëalas smiled and shook her head. "Our father has promised his swords to us, one for each, whenever we ask for them, but we have not yet. As for my Mother, I doubt Galmegil will leave her hands until she leaves Middle Earth."

Círeth chuckled. "I don't doubt you are right. Mother is very attached to Galmegil."

The twins laughed together and Elfwine wondered why it was so funny.

 _No doubt it's related to their family,_ Elfwine decided.

They passed by a large set of rock formations on their left. Dark crevices and cracks between rocks created an ominous feeling among the company.

Meanwhile, up at the front, Aderthon narrowed his eyes and slowed his stallion.

"Did you hear that?" he murmured. "That sound?"

Eldarion and Elboron reared in their steeds and turned back. They looked at Aderthon in confusion but strained their ears. By now, everyone had halted.

"I swear, I heard…growling," Aderthon insisted.

Eldarion nodded. "I believe you."

All eyes turned to the shadows of the rocks. Was something hiding there?

As if in answer, a wolf, mangy and flea-bitten, leapt from the crevices. Three more followed, howling behind their leader. They went straight for the company, more and more wolves spilling from the rocks. They were foaming at the mouth and some tottered back and forth as if dizzy.

"Rabid wolves," Círeth muttered in disgust as she released an arrow which struck a wolf straight in the head, killing it.

Edeva drew her two one-handed axes and yelled in anger as she swung them at the jumping and growling wolves.

"Do not let them bite you or the horses!" Aderthon shouted. "They are rabid!"

He swung his sword down and stabbed a wolf dead. Looking around, he saw that everyone was doing fairly well. No one had been bitten, yet, and the wolves' numbers were down to seven.

 _Make that six_ , he smiled to himself as he watched Elfwine kill a small one.

Within a few minutes, all the wolves had perished. The threat was gone, and everyone was safe.

"Where's Fëalas?" Aderthon shouted suddenly as he realized his sister was missing.

"Here!" Called Círeth from somewhere nearby.

The company gasped as they realized Fëalas' horse was dead on the ground, its throat ripped out. Behind it on the ground was Fëalas, a bite on her leg. She had been knocked unconscious when her horse fell, and Círeth had protected her as best she could.

Aderthon and Eldarion rushed to the sisters. Release a few elvish curses, Aderthon checked to make sure there were no other injuries than her bleeding leg.

"Bring me my pack," Eldarion ordered.

Elfwine ran it over to him. "Will she be okay?"

Aderthon, Círeth, and Eldarion exchanged glances. Rabies was a deadly disease once it set in.

Eldarion bit his lip. "I will do my best. I know of someone who can help us, or at least I've heard stories of him, if we can get east of the mountains in time."

Slowly Fëalas began to open her eyes as Eldarion finished up treating her wound. He had washed it thoroughly, used some herbs to encourage healing, and stitched it up before wrapping it.

"Fëalas, you and Círeth can ride together," Eldarion nodded as he helped her stand.

She nodded. She knew the gravity of the situation, of what had happened to her. If rabies began to set in, she had little hope of living. Only the elves, and the very powerful ones at that, knew _cures_ for rabies once it had set in. She guessed she had two or three months before the symptoms would start showing themselves.

"I only know of one elf who can help us," Eldarion sighed to his two best friends as they all set off again. "The last elf of Imladris."

"Lord Glorfindel?" Aderthon looked in surprise at his friend and prince. "You think he's really still there?"

"He corresponds with my father," explained the prince. "I have caught glimpses of their letters."

"Any indication of when he plans to leave?" Elboron asked.

Eldarion nodded. "He's not leaving until the sons of Elrond leave."

"Hopefully he can help my sister."


	23. News Arrives

**Now - South of Lorien**

They camped in the open again that night. Halfway through the night, while Eldarion and Elboron were on guard, Fëalas woke up, groaning. Her leg felt like it was on fire.

Eldarion quickly got up and hurried over to her. He knelt beside her and wiped a tear from her face.

"Shhh," he hushed before picking her up and carrying her to where he and Elboron were on guard.

"I'm not crying," she stuttered and whimpered. "I'm a ranger!"

Eldarion smiled and nearly laughed as he laid her down on the ground. Elboron brought over a pile of sticks and a lit branch so the prince would have some light to work to. With the small fire kindled, Eldarion took out his supplies to redress her wound.

All three were silent. Her wound was no laughing matter, not at all. Elboron stood with his arms crossed behind her, watching the horizon for any sign of enemies. But every once and a while, his gaze would travel towards Fëalas.

The pain on her face was heartbreaking to him. He knew that she was aware of her slim chance to live. Even once the wound itself was healed, the rabies would seal her fate unless they found Glorfindel. For even Eldarion was not a skilled enough healer.

"We should have brought Estelwen," Eldarion muttered as he began to restitch her wound. "She is the better healer."

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

"We are close to sealing the alliance," Arwen told her husband at dinner that night. "Amdirien is wonderfully gifted in diplomacy!"

Aragorn smiled at his elder daughter. "Just like her mother."

Amdirien blushed. "I hope we can finalize the agreement with Dunland soon."

Arwen agreed with a nod of her head. "The sooner, the better it will be. The chiefs are going to put the treaty up to a vote next month. We are to attend."

"Certainly." Aragorn took a bite of his meal. "I would prefer to have a truce with Dunland in case I need to move troops North. It'd be better not to battle Dunland, though I would do it if needed."

"You think we will have to go North, Father?" asked Estelwen eagerly, the younger of the two sisters. "Has there been some news?"

With a sigh he nodded, causing them all to go quiet. "Indeed there has been. But I fear it is not good news and I must speak to Miril and Elrohir first."

"Speak to us of what?" Elrohir asked as he walked in the door, a smile on his face.

Aragorn suddenly lost all appetite. He put down his fork and stood, excusing himself from his family. Elrohir dropped the smile as he saw the concern on his friend's face.

"Where is Míril?" Aragorn asked quietly.

"She is at home." Elrohir felt his stomach drop.

Aragorn led his adopted brother out of the dining room and into the main circle. Together in silence they walked the streets until they reached the house of Míril and Elrohir. Inside, they found her laughing with Elladan. But as soon as they saw Aragorn's serious expression, they stopped.

"Sit," Aragorn said with a sigh.

All the blood drained from Míril's face. She took her husband's hand and sat on their couch, with Elladan moving to another seat. Aragorn remained standing.

"Is she dead?" whispered Míril in sadness.

Aragorn closed his eyes in pain. As he opened them he shook his head. "No. It is much worse."

Elrohir and Míril exchanged glances with each other. She closed her eyes.

"She's gone rogue," Aragorn explained slowly. "A messenger arrived from the North this morning. He bore news that Tinneth had begun targeting Dunédain settlements and wiping out the rangers there."

"Impossible," Elrohir shook his head, holding his wife's hand tightly.

Miril glared. "Where is this messenger?"

"Dead." Aragorn responded. "He died this morning after relaying the information. But he had proof. A letter written by Tinneth herself confession to the deeds. She _wanted_ us to know."

"My daughter is **not** a kinslayer," Miril hissed in anger. "She cannot be."

Elrohir turned to Aragorn again. "Where is this letter, brother?"

Expecting the question, Aragorn had brought it with him. He took the letter from his pocket, showing them the seal of the House of Fëanoriel in wax that had come with it. Drawing out the letter, he handed it to them.

Míril's face contorted in horror as she read the letter. Elrohir, though just as in pain, maintained composure… mostly.

" _To Míril and Elrohir,_

" _Parents. You call yourself my parents. But you are not, you are but the people who birthed me. You never loved me, never gave me freedom and choice. You controlled me, my life, and my decisions. That ends now. For I have made my own choice once and for all. I have seen how people who call themselves good, people like you, can be evil. And I have met "evil" that is good._

" _You say my anger is a flaw, it "burns too hot and fiery." You say I must watch myself because I am a descendent of Lord Fëanor. But you are wrong. My anger is my strength. High King Fëanor was unstoppable. I will be unstoppable. And it begins now._

" _Farewell, and tell King Elessar that I am not alone, and that together me and my ally will topple his Reunited Kingdom. The Red Hand is coming._

_Lady Tinneth_

_Heiress of Fëanor"_

Miril nearly screamed in anger and fear and helplessness. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. Beside her, Elrohir narrowed his eyes in anger and handed the letter back to his adopted brother and king.

"Truly that is her," Miril said numbly. "We have failed."

Elrohir nodded. He was furious, but at no one save himself. They knew she was a risk. They had known since her birth. A warning from Lord Ulmo, the Vala of water, had spoken to Miril as he had done many times. But no matter how careful they had been, it had not been enough.

* * *

**Now - Angmar**

Tinneth yawned as she woke up. Beside her, Halion was still asleep, his steady deep breathing proof enough. She didn't want to get up, but a knock sounded on the door, waking Halion.

Tinneth quickly pulled the covers up to shield herself from the newcomer as she sat up. Halion called for whoever it was to enter.

"Sorry to disturb you m'lord, m'lady," said a man with dark hair and black clothes. "But there is a messenger here from Gundabad."

Halion sighed and nodded. "Tell him to give me five minutes."

As the man left, Halion got up from the bed and began getting dressed. He pulled on his black and red tunic that complimented his amber eyes. Tinneth watched him intently.

He looked back at her. "I envy you. You get to remain in bed while I see to an orc."

She smirked. "I already did my turn with them. Remember?"

Halion chuckled. He supposed she was right.


	24. The Golden Wood

Eldarion finished restitching Fëalas' wound a few minutes later. She was breathing heavily from the pain of the needle and thread that he pulled through her sensitive skin.

"Well that should keep me alive for now," she said, forcing a fake smile as she saw Eldarion's depressed expression.

He chuckled humorlessly once. It was more of a snort. Her face fell as she looked away from where he was wiping the blood off her leg with a wet cloth.

Elboron looked at her forlorn face sadly. She was a sweetheart. She didn't deserve this fate. She didn't deserve to live with the knowledge that any day she could begin going insane. She could start hallucinating, be overcome with paranoia.

Eldarion left them there as he returned his supplies to his horse. Elboron made eye contact with her.

"I do not want your pity," she said fiercely.

He looked at her in surprise. "I said nothing!"

"Your eyes said everything," she huffed, pulling herself into a sitting position, leaving her injured leg still stretched out in front of her.

Elboron gave a quiet laugh. "I did not realize you were so observant. Very well. I will not pity you."

That sat in silence for a moment. Eldarion was still trying to pack everything up.

"I have lived a good life," Fëalas sniffed. "I wish only to see Tinneth again before I die."

"You are not dead yet!" Elboron protested immediately, sitting beside her. "Do not speak like that, Fëalas!"

She gave a half smile at him before looking away. Eldarion came striding back and looked at them.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asked with a chuckle.

Fëalas shook her head. "No!"

"Let's get you to bed," Eldarion said quickly. "I'll carry you back over to the main fire."

Fëalas looked at him in irritation. "I cannot sleep. My mind is far afield. Let me keep watch with you, if you will."

Elboron and Eldarion exchanged skeptic looks. She was injured; she needed as much sleep as possible to heal. Yet they understood her request. Who knew how much time she would have left to live?

Sighing, Eldarion conceded. "Very well."

They fell into a comfortable silence. Eldarion went over to the horses to check they were all still in place. Elboron and Fëalas watched the sky and the horizon as the Sun began to rise. Their prince soon joined them, sitting on the other side of Fëalas.

"Beautiful." She smiled as the Sun cast its golden rays across the grass.

Soon they woke the others. After a quick breakfast of berries and bread, they mounted their horses. Fëalas ended up riding with Elboron.

"Is this pity?" She smirked at him when he offered.

Elboron laughed. "No. Practicality. My horse has the least baggage. And your sister seems to be sneezing a lot."

She chuckled and accepted his hand, blushing. He chuckled to himself.

 _She certainly is a funny one,_ he thought.

Fëalas couldn't help but be excited to ride with the man she was in love with. Thought she knew he did not return her affections, it was thrilling. She rode in front of him, gripping the saddle horn.

By afternoon, they beheld the sight they were all waiting for: a treeline. Lorien was within a few hours' ride. They pushed their horses a little faster, eager to reach the safety of the trees. For though the elves had left and gone to Southern Mirkwood, the fellowship hoped to find solace within the ancient wood.

Suddenly, Fëalas began to sing lightly and quietly, as if to herself.

"In Lorien, the bright lady dwelt. White her belt, and bright her hair. The Western light shone in her gaze, and her hidden ways were fair. Galadriel, Galadriel, now over the sea you have gone. Galadriel, Galadriel, we mourn our loss with song."

"A pretty tune," Elboron said, his voice a rumble as he spoke quietly. "You make it up yourself?"

"Father used to sing it while Mother played the lyre," Fëalas smiled softly. "He and Elladan wrote it, and that is but a fraction of the whole song."

Aderthon, riding but a little ways ahead dropped back. He looked at his sister first in concern and then with affection.

"You know, I always said you sound like mother. Your voice is truly beautiful, Fëalas. Fit for a tune such as that." He laughed lightly as his sister made a face.

Slowly but surely they drew closer to the trees. Within a few hours, they reached the first few. The flowing Anduin river was several miles or so to their right as they crossed beneath the trees.

"Look at the leaves," breathed Fëalas as she leaned forward on the horse.

Both the leaves on the ground and those in the trees were golden, shining when the sunlight of late afternoon touched them. The company was whispering to each other, all overcome by amazement at the beauty.

"Welcome to Lothlorien," Eldarion said quietly to himself.

"What a welcome," agreed Aderthon.

Everyone was in a better mood as they journeyed forward. All of a sudden their troubles didn't seem so bad. Elven magic still lingered here, despite the fact that those folk had abandoned Lorien many years before.

In an hour, they suddenly reached the bank of a river. It was swiftly moving, but they reckoned there was no need to cross it just yet.

"No doubt this is the River Celebrant," Eldarion said. "We should head West along it. We will hit the Nimrodel and cross there."

"Come on, Carroch," nudged Aderthon. "Let's get moving again."

They journey through the Golden Wood until they could barely see from the dark of night. Eldarion called a halt when they reached the Nimrodel and Celebrant merging.

"We'll rest here tonight," Eldarion said.

Círeth got off her horse and looked up into the trees. She saw something that didn't seem quite right.

"Wait here," she said and motioned for them to stay put.

Putting her hands to a low branch, she hauled herself into the tree. Carefully she climbed up until she was no longer easily visible other than her bright red hair. A triumphant sound floated down as she found what she was looking for. All of a sudden, a rope ladder came flying down, unraveling so they could climb up.

Aderthon was the first to clamber up. He scurried up the ladder like a squirrel and grinned when he reached the flet at the top.

"This must be how the Galadhrim kept watch," he nodded. "Father called them flets I think."

The others took turns climbing up and looking around the Mallorn tree. In the end, Aderthon, Finduilas, Elboron, and Eldarion decided to sleep there and take turns keeping watch while the others slept on the ground to watch the horses.

Círeth went out with her bow and brought back no meat, but plenty of edible, delicious nuts and berries to restock their food bag. By the time it was fully dark, all were ready to sleep.


	25. A New Friend

In the morning, the sun shining down through the golden leaves speckled their faces and woke them gently. Barahir was the first to wake. He had heard stories of the beauty of the Lady Galadriel from his parents, Eowyn and Faramir, but had never suspected her entire realm could've been so fair. The golden leaves and silver bark of the mallorn trees, or _mellyrn_ in the proper Sindarin elvish, made for an incredible sight.

He rolled over on the leaves beneath him and finally made himself sit up. He looked around and saw that no one was awake yet. Barahir stood up and stretched, trying desperately not to wake anyone with crunching leaves.

His moderately long, curly blonde hair gleamed beneath the soft sunlight. As he shook his head, his hair flew around his face and got in his eyes. He glared at nothing and pushed it away immediately. He felt the golden sunlight on his cheeks and smiled. It finally felt like they could relax a little. The merging streams, the Celebrant and the Nimrodel, made for pleasant background noise to wake up to.

"Quit fawning over your hair, Barahir," smirked his sister Finduilas as she climbed out of the flet. "It brings shame on our family."

Barahir rolled his eyes. "I was not. I was getting it out of my eyes and admiring the scenery."

Finduilas chuckled. "Whatever you say, brother."

Barahir glared.

By now, a few others had woken up. Elboron, their other brother, had climbed down and smiled at his younger siblings.

"Fin, leave our brother alone. You know he's sensitive about his hair," Elboron smirked.

Barahir rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "You are a wonderful help, you know that, Elboron?"

"He tries," Eldarion told them as he climbed down, followed by Aderthon.

"Thank you, my friend," Elboron smiled at his friend.

"He _tries,_ " Aderthon laughed. "Eldarion never said it _worked._ "

Everyone laughed. The twins had woken up and Fëalas was being tended to by her sister. Elfwine and Edeva were preparing the meager breakfast they had decided upon. All were in high spirits beneath the boughs of the Mellyrn.

Coming over to the red haired twins, Eldarion knelt beside Fëalas.

"How are you feeling, _mellon-nin_?" He felt her forehead and cheeks for fever. "You seem alright."

"I am in pain, but that cannot be avoided." Fëalas shrugged. "I do not feel sick yet."

"Good." The prince nodded and smiled, but inwardly he frowned. _It has only been a few days though. Who knows how long it will be before the disease sets in?_

Eldarion stood and got his breakfast. He sat between Finduilas and Aderthon and picked at the berries and cheese on his plate while sipping at his water. Looking around at his company, he smiled. They were all eager to keep going; he could see it in their eyes.

"From here we head West along Nimrodel until we find a crossing." Eldarion told them between bites. "Once we cross, we will follow the Celebrant north until we reach the Gates of Moria."

"Sounds easy enough," Barahir muttered darkly. "Which means something is going to go wrong."

"Do we know where the dwarven convoys have set themselves up?" Elboron asked as he ate a blueberry.

"From what Gimli told me, there should be some kind of dwarven set up in the Hall and around Mirrormere." Eldarion explained by taking some sticks and setting up a diagram. "Here and here."

"So we should run into friendly faces by the end of the day!" Elfwine's face brightened.

"That is the hope, yes," nodded the prince.

After all had finished eating and the dishes were cleaned in the river, they took hold of their horses and led them through the forest along the small Nimrodel. It took about thirty minutes before they found a crossing point.

"Do you think this is where the Fellowship of the Ring crossed over?" breathed Fëalas in awe.

"Quite possibly, yes," Elboron nodded.

The whole company had a greater respect for this place now. As they mounted up to cross, they were silent. The sound of the Falls of Nimrodel was audible in the morning air. It sounded almost like singing.

After all had crossed, they increased their speed to rejoin the Celebrant. After an hour or so, they reached it and headed north. Before long, they found signs of dwarven civilization. They crossed through a few pikes with goblin heads warning away those evil creatures.

"Halt!" cried a dwarf, his axe ready in his hands. "Who are you to come to Moria?"

Beside him were two others, ready with weapons to defend their homes. Eldarion dismounted, and the others followed. Elboron pulled Fëalas down with him and he and her twin supported her between them.

"Greetings, master dwarves. Prince Eldarion of the Reunited Kingdom, at your service. My companions and I come requesting safe passage north with the blessings of both King Elessar and Lord Gimli of Aglarond." He bowed before them and walked forward. "I have a note here from the dwarf lord."

The dwarf narrowed his eyes but sheathed his axe and took the offered letter. He opened it up, noting the wax seal of Lord Gimli and read the contents. Passing it to his friends, he nodded at Eldarion.

"It is an honor to welcome the prince of the Reunited Kingdom. I am Bidor, at your service. Please follow me. I will escort you to see Lord Durin of Moria." The blonde dwarf bowed deeply to the company and spotted Fëalas suspended between Elboron and Círeth. "Please, at least allow your injured comrade to ride. There is no need for us all to walk."

"Thank you, Bidor," Eldarion smiled. "Elboron, ride with Fëalas. The rest of us will walk alongside you, good sir."

Bidor, blonde haired and thickly bearded, nodded and walked beside Eldarion. He began speaking to the prince of many things, including of the passage of a ranger recently.

"He bore the symbol of the Reunited Kingdom. Injured and desperate to move quickly, he told us he had urgent news for the King's ears only." Bidor shrugged. "We fed him and tended his wounds as best we could, providing to him a horse that we used to pull carts back and forth outside Moria. He left the next morning in a rush."

"How long ago?" asked Eldarion urgently. "Recently?"

"Maybe three, four weeks ago?" Bidor thought hard. "Yes almost four weeks, I'd say."

Eldarion frowned. Obviously some new news had been sent to Minas Tirith. Whether or not it reached the Kingdom, he did not know.

"Evidently this news troubles you, sir," Bidor observed. "I would ask you see Lord Durin and tell him of what had happened. He would welcome any news, any explanation for our odd visitor."

Eldarion nodded. "Of course. I will say what I can to your Lord."

Bidor smiled suddenly as he stopped. "Welcome to the Mirrormere, and the gates of Moria."

Down below them was a dell, deep with a dark blue lake. In it, Eldarion fancied he saw stars. Bidor led them down the road into the valley and past the great pool.

Dwarven guards roamed around the dell and beside the great gates. They watched the newcomers suspiciously but said nothing when they noted that Bidor was leading them.


	26. Ominous Discussions

"Welcome to Moria," Bidor said with a sweeping gesture as they entered the dwarven stronghold.

The inside of the dwarven home was bustling with activity. The dwarves had just rebuilt the bridge across the chasm and made it wider than ever so that carts could cross. Great lamps and mirrors lit the hall and dwarven miners could be heard all the way down in the depths.

The newcomers stood, mouths agape. If they had thought Aglarond was impressive, then this was miraculous. Everything was just huge.

"We will take the postern gate," Bidor decided with a smile as he saw their expressions. "That is a quicker way to where Lord Durin has set up his throne."

"Mother went that way through Moria!" Fëalas said with excitement to her sister as Círeth and Elboron helped her off their horse and onto the ground.

"Leave your horses here at the entrance," Bidor told them. "You will have to walk awhile."

Fëalas tried to put a bit of pressure on her leg but it just wasn't happening. Elboron smirked and lifted her up.

"I told you not to pity me," glared Fëalas.

Elboron rolled his eyes. "We need to keep moving. And you can't walk."

With a huff, she relented. Her lithe form was easy to carry. As they followed Bidor, Fëalas was entranced by the surroundings. The look of innocent wonder despite her predicament was inspiring to Elboron. She was always so cheerful.

Many dwarves stopped and stared at the half elves and humans as they walked around the postern door which had been expanded to make for easier access.

"Just down through here," Bidor explained.

He led them through several barracks and armory rooms where armor and weapons were being stored. At the end of a long hallway he turned left.

"Lord Durin," bowed Bidor as they entered a small throne room. "I bring you guests with a letter from Lord Gimli of Aglarond!"

The company looked at the dwarf lord. He was young, his reddish brown beard still small. His eyes sparkled with mirth and he smiled upon their entry.

"Welcome, dwarf-friends!" He walked forward and nodded to them. "Who is here to see Durin of Moria?"

"I am Prince Eldarion, son of King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdom." He bowed low to Durin. "Here at my side also is Prince Elfwine of Rohan and his sister Edeva, Lords Elboron and Barahir and their sister Finduilas, children of Prince Faramir, and finally Lord Aderthon and his sisters Fëalas and Círeth, childen of Prince Elrohir."

"Royal guests indeed," Durin said in awe. "Welcome, my Lords!"

"At your service," bowed Eldarion once more.

"And mine at yours," the Lord replied. "Now come, it seems to me that one of your companions is injured. Bring her with you and I will guide you to our healers."

Fëalas thanked him from where she was still in Elboron's arms. Much to her chagrin, she couldn't walk on her own yet. As she tried, her leg would give out.

"So tell me, Prince Eldarion, what brings you to Khazad-dûm?" asked Durin. "What can we do for you?"

"We are on our way North," explained the prince. "We wish for safe passage through the mines."

"Khazad-dûm is much saf _er_ than in days past," Durin agreed, "but to call it safe would be a great exaggeration. And you have an injured comrade."

"Yes, that complicates matters," he agreed. "But we cannot leave my cousin behind. And we must get North."

They reached the healing halls and Elboron laid Fëalas down on a bed. A healer rushed over and began looking over the half-elf. Durin turned to Eldarion.

"You may leave someone to stay with her if you wish. But I believe we should talk in private." Durin sighed. "There is much to decide."

Eldarion agreed. "I will take Aderthon and Elboron with me. The rest of you can remain here. Help the healers with Fëalas."

They didn't like it, but all agreed. Aderthon and Elboron followed Lord Durin and Eldarion away down several halls and into a side room with a table and several chairs. They sat down and Durin sighed.

"I will of course agree to let you pass through," he said. "That is not the issue. I do, however, require some information if you can give it."

"Name it, Lord. If it is in my power, I will give it to you." Eldarion nodded quickly.

Durin began. "As my scout Bidor probably told you, a Ranger from the North passed through here a month ago. Why? What was so urgent that he came, injured, to the South? Why are a group of royal children heading North?"

Eldarion leaned back in his chair. It was small for him, as he was tall because of his elven ancestry and these were built for dwarves.

"Nearly three months ago, my father received a message from the North. My cousin, Aderthon's youngest sister, had gone missing after an attack on the northern Dunédain." He trailed off, the lamp on the wall becoming more fascinating every second.

"We have been sent to find her," Aderthon continued. "We need to find my sister and put an end to the orc attacks on the rangers. We are to investigate what is behind these attacks."

Durin nodded slowly. "I see. A missing royal and darkness growing in the North. That explains a few things."

Elboron hesitated before asking a question. "Lord, do you have any idea of what the messenger had to say? Did he speak to you at all?"

"When I spoke with him, he would only give vague answers. He spoke of a traitor, and of a darkness growing. He spoke of death for the Rangers. Something about Angmar," Durin replied, "and twin blades in the night."

Aderthon's face paled. He went deathly white and Durin stopped speaking. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Evidently this means something to you."

Aderthon stood and paced. Eldarion looked startled as well. But Elboron looked confused. Evidently they knew something he did not.

"We know nothing for certain," Eldarion assured Lord Durin. "Only conjecture and assumptions right now. It is something we do not wish to speak of at the moment."

Durin nodded. "Very well, Lord. Keep your secrets."

Eldarion frowned. "Lord Durin, a more pressing matter pertains to our passage through Moria."

"Indeed! You do not know the way, nor should you go alone," Durin agreed. "I will provide you with a guide. As for your horses, there is little we can do. Horses cannot cross Moria yet."

"We know." Eldarion nodded. "We will set them loose before we leave."

"There are dwarven outposts all the way from here to the Western Gate," Lord Durin told them. "You should not run into too much trouble as long as you do not stray too deep."

Durin got up and opened the door, beckoning for them to follow. The trio went after him and they returned to the healing halls. When they got there, they found Fëalas fast asleep and the others whispering quietly on the floor.

"You may sleep here tonight," Durin told them. "There are plenty of beds. I will see to you in the morning before we send you off."

"Thank you, Lord," Eldarion bowed. "We are in your debt."


	27. Realizations

**Now - Moria**

Aderthon wasn't tired.

_That's a lie,_ he thought to himself.

Aderthon _was_ tired, but he couldn't sleep. Everyone around him was in peaceful slumber, but he was not. There several things on his mind, but all revolved a sister of his. On the one hand there was Fëalas. On the other, there was Tinneth.

Fëalas, the loving, loyal, and joyful woman she was, now lay on a medical cot, her wound slowly healing. The dwarves had better medicine than Eldarion had had access to on the road. It seemed to be helping.

Aderthon stood from his cot, not even bothering to slip into socks or shoes. The stone was cold on his bare feet, but smooth. It felt good. He walked quietly over to his sister's bed and sat beside her on the floor after gazing into her gentle face.

She didn't seem to be in any pain. Aderthon thanked the Valar for that. He wondered if she'd have better luck walking in the coming day. If they weren't in such a rush, Aderthon might have asked Lord Durin if the company could've stayed a few days to let her wound heal completely.

The dwarven healers said that one of her muscles had been torn, which was why she was having so much trouble with movement and pressure.

_Maybe we can get a cart,_ he mused. _I could help pull it._

Aderthon stood from his sister's bedside and leaned over, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He loved his kin deeply, all of them. Like Tinneth, he had a fire deep inside him stronger than most. His emotions were always powerful. But he had learned to control them. Tinneth had not.

_I dearly hope she has not become involved with this Red Hand,_ he said to himself as he walked away from the group to stare at the wall.

"Can we help you, sir?" a dwarven healer asked him quietly, coming over to him.

Aderthon was startled. He hadn't noticed the ever watchful dwarf in the corner.

He shook his head. "No thank you, good sir. I just have much on my mind."

The dwarf nodded, his white beard bouncing up and down before walking away. "I understand."

Aderthon wondered if he did. Had any of this dwarf's kin ever gone and betrayed the free peoples of Middle Earth.

_Quit that kind of talk,_ he scolded himself. _None of that is certain yet!_

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. Aderthon spun around and found himself staring at Eldarion and Elboron. Aderthon let out a tired sigh.

"I feel I need to be caught up to speed," Elboron said, cocking an eyebrow.

Aderthon and Eldarion went through what they knew of the Red Hand of Sauron. They explained how he had a fascination and fixation with the Fëanorian blood line.

"I have discovered more of this man's story," Aderthon revealed after they had caught Elboron up to speed. "The final passage of the book said this: The Red Hand of this age, the one Saruman speaks of, is the great grandson of Queen Beruthiel of Gondor."

"How is that possible?" Elboron asked in surprise. "She had no kin."

"None recorded by Gondor. But Saruman speaks of marriage to an enslaved elf after she was sent back to the Black Numenoreans in order to 'further purify and strengthen' their bloodline." Aderthon shrugged. "That is all he found out. Or all he wrote on the subject."

"I am further convinced this Red Hand is the man who stole the Palantír from Annuminas." Eldarion sighed deeply. "We must be careful, Queen Beruthiel, that curséd woman, she was a menace for Gondor. Her spies and secret allies caused much grief for our people when she reigned. Perhaps her great-grandson has inherited his ancestor's affinity for sorcery as well."

"The book does seem to imply that," Aderthon reminded them.

Suddenly, after many moments of silence, Elboron spoke quietly, eyes downcast in fear and sadness and foreboding.

" _Traitor. Twin blades in the night,_ " he recalled slowly from their conversation with Durin. "You think this Red Hand got to Tinneth."

Aderthon slammed his eyes shut as silent tears filled them. They were tears of anger and fear, tears of sadness and helplessness. He hated not knowing what was going on, not being able to _do_ anything. He felt Elboron place a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"It is likely," murmured Eldarion.

* * *

**Now - Angmar**

Tinneth pressed herself closer to Halion as they lay in bed together. Morning was drawing near and she didn't want to get up.

" _Aradheleth,_ " whispered Halion to her, using the name he had given her. Royal Terror, it meant. "How do you still smell of lilac?"

Tinneth sighed but sat up. Halion sat up alongside her and kissed her bare neck. Tinneth smirked and looked at him.

"We need to get up," she reminded the half-elf, half-black numenorean man. "Remember?"

Halion chuckled but stood and got dressed. He pulled on a loose white shirt and black pants. His boots, also black, were slipped on next. Meanwhile, Tinneth pulled on her grey tunic and black pants. They had work to do today.

"Before we see to the training," Halion smiled, "I have something to show you."

Taking her hand, Halion led Tinneth up a flight of spiral stairs he had previously forbidden her from entering. At the top was a locked, iron door. With a spell, Halion pushed it open easily. Inside, Tinneth saw wonders.

"Is that the Palantír?" She gasped audibly as she saw it. "From Annuminas?"

"Indeed," Halion nodded. "That is just one of the treasures I have gathered here."

He drew out a box from inside a chest and opened it with another spell. Tinneth gazed inside the gold and red wooden box and gasped.

Dozens of golden, mithril, and silver rings lay there. Some had jewels, others were bare. He smiled at her reaction.

"Each of these had a different power. I have collected them for over a hundred years, as did my predecessor before me," Halion explained. "My former master, Sauron, had us collect rings of power to see if they were the Master Ring. Of course, I never found it. Not that I would've given it to that maniacal Maia if I had. He wasn't able to see the danger coming. I knew they would try to destroy it. That fool!"

Tinneth smiled and drew him closer. " _Carnimendo_ , I name you. Red Doom. For truly you will bring destruction to the Dunédain and to Gondor."

He grabbed her and kissed her harshly. "Together, _Aradheleth,_ together."


	28. In Days of Yore

In the morning, Elboron and Círeth were the ones to help Fëalas try standing. Under the careful eye of the dwarven healer, Fëalas slowly tested her leg on the ground, Elboron and Círeth to either side in support in case she collapsed.

Which is exactly what happened. She growled in frustration as she fell to her knees, the two people beside her catching her as she fell. The dwarf with the long white beard shook his head and clicked his teeth.

"I still say yah should wait another day," he sighed. "She might be able to walk short distances by tomorrow."

"No," Fëalas barked, uncharacteristically angry and harsh. "We need to go _now_."

"I might be able to help."

Everyone turned to look at the newcomer. It was Lord Durin and Bidor, followed by a rather large goat. Behind the animal was a small cart.

"This is one of our mounted goats," Durin explained. "We usually keep them hidden, but as a gesture of good faith I will lend him to you. He should be able to pull your friend."

Fëalas looked at the cart skeptically but nodded. She would ride in it - she had little choice. The company needed to keep moving, for her sake as much as anyone's.

"Thank you again, Lord," Eldarion bowed. "I am afraid we must now take our leave of you."

Durin nodded and grasped Eldarion's arm in a handshake. "Good luck, and may Mahal guide you."

Fëalas was lifted into the cart by her brother. Bidor, their chosen guide, took the goat's lead rope and they moved forward down the hall. Each said their farewell to Lord Durin.

Aderthon ran his hand up and down the hilt of his sword. _Daeristor_ , Shadow Cleaver, he had named it. It was a sword to drive out the darkness. He only wished it had been literally able to drive out darkness; an ancient elvish blade would've been really useful right then as they began their journey through Moria.

It wasn't so dark that they couldn't see, even for the regular humans like Elboron or Elfwine. Every pair of companions held a single torch. They journeyed through halls of stone, some incredibly massive, still others small and cozy.

"This place is strange yet similar to Aglarond," Elfwine commented to Eldarion.

Eldarion agreed with him with a smile. "Truly."

The two stood next to the cart, right behind Bidor. The dwarf grunted and shook his head.

"In its former glory, Khazad-dûm was much grander than Lord Gimli's Glittering Caves, however impressive those may seem. And I assure you he would be the first to agree." Bidor raided his torch and ran a hand along the passage wall. "The Glittering Caves have only small traces of mithril. These halls, they ran with the precious metal. They bled Moria Silver."

Elfwine was amazed. "What happened to the dwarves here?"

"They delved too deep," was all Bidor would say, growing quiet again.

Eldarion decided to explain to the prince of Rohan what the dwarf would not. "In the years of Moira's decline, Mithril began to grow more scarce. The dwarves were forced to mine deeper and deeper into the earth. There they awoke a demon of an earlier age."

"A Balrog of the Black Foe," Elboron chimed in, coming up alongside them. "A Balrog of Morgoth."

Elfwine was mesmerized. His eyes were wide as he waited for them to continue.

"Balrogs are fallen Maiar, large, eclipsed in darkness and flame." Eldarion began to describe the fire demons for the rohirric princeling. "This one has been known only as Durin's Bane. None remember its true name."

"Were there other balrogs?" Elfwine asked them curiously. "Are they still around?"

"Oh yes," Aderthon said, responding as he too joined the little group near the cart. "Hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands!"

"They were the chief commanders of Morgoth's forces in the First Age and the War of the Jewels," revealed Elboron.

"A great elf of those days, the High King of the Noldor, King Fingon, was slain as he battled them. He was killed by Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs."

Elfwine was astounded. "Who killed Gothmog?"

The other three exchanged glances. Who indeed?

"An elf named Ecthelion, a Lord in the hidden city of Gondolin, slew him as he himself was slain. Then another elf, Glorfindel, managed to kill yet another balrog. Glorfindel was sent back to Middle Earth by the Valar, the gods as you know them, in the Second Age." Eldarion smiled. "He trained my father in swordsmanship, you know."

"And my mother," Aderthon added. "He and my father and uncle."

"Is he still alive?" Elfwine asked, his eyes wide. "Is he still in Middle Earth? Or has he left like the other elves?"

"He is still here," Eldarion smiled. "In fact, he is who we hope will heal Fëalas. He has sworn not to leave until the Sons of Elrond leave."

Elfwine grew quiet. He had a lot to think about. Elvish history was not stressed by his teachers in Rohan. It was, of course, their own myths and legends and history that was important. Yet the elves had always fascinated him. They were such remarkable beings of grace and power.

"Who killed Durin's Bane?" he finally asked. "If balrogs are so powerful, who killed him?"

"Gandalf did, of course," Bidor jumped in. He'd had enough talk of elves and their strength in battle.

"Gandalf the wizard?" Elfwine grinned. "I've learned about him! Father says he was always a good friend of Rohan."

"He was a good friend of everyone," Bidor replied. "I knew him."

"You _knew_ Gandalf the White?" Fëalas, sitting up in the cart after listening to the boys talk, asked quickly.

Bidor smirked. "Indeed, lassie. I knew him. Though I knew him as Gandalf the Grey. He helped my uncle Dain Ironfoot win the Lonely Mountain. I never met him after the color change."

Fëalas looked at this dwarf in newfound respect. "Your uncle was Dain Ironfoot?"

"Indeed. My cousin sits on the throne now. But I wanted to follow Lord Durin to Moria." Bidor puffed out his chest proudly. "I would follow Lord Durin to the ends of Middle Earth if he asked me."

The company grew quiet. Aderthon couldn't help but think of the lyre that sat above his fireplace back home. All this talk of the elves of old made him think of the tales his mother and father told about traveling with Maglor, second son of Fëanor, to Harad. There they had found a silmaril, and it had been sent over the sea with the Ringbearers later.

But Maglor had perished, dying to save Míril from slaying Elrohir in confusion when the Blue Wizards took partial control of her mind. Maglor had saved her from committing an act of kinslaying like him.

The elder days, while so fascinating, had not been all sunshine and roses. They had been bittersweet. Aderthon knew he lived in better, more secure times now.

And he was thankful for that.


	29. Siblings

After two days of travel, the group was beginning to really miss the open air. Edeva especially was missing the rolling fields and bright stars of Rohan, her home. She pushed her brown hair out of her face and risked a glance at her brother, Elfwine.

She gave a tiny smile as she saw him laughing and talking with his idol, Eldarion. Elfwine had always aspired to be like the much older prince of the Reunited Kingdom, Edeva knew that. Eldarion, the kind soul he was, put up with the young teenager's idol worship graciously.

Edeva watched her brother's face light up in the fire light whenever Eldarion asked him a question. Elboron, too, was there and he showed as much interest in the boy as his friend. Edeva was so glad these men were traveling with them. It was good for her brother.

"He's a sweet kid," came a low whisper behind her to the right.

She smiled at Aderthon's comment, not even turning to him. "I know."

"He takes after his big sister," Aderthon added with a smirk.

Edeva chuckled at his comment. "Oh really? And what would you know about that. We rarely talk. You're always up there with Eldarion!"

"Well we're talking now," he pointed out slyly, walking backwards to face her. "I just wanted to let you know that your brother is safe with us. We'd never let anything happen to him."

Edeva's face fell. She didn't realize how obvious it was that she wasn't entirely confident in the men's abilities to keep her younger brother safe from harm.

"He's still a child," she murmured. "He doesn't belong on this quest. If anyone is going to get killed, it's going to be him."

"No," Aderthon shook his head. "No, Edeva. He will not. I swear on my own life, I will protect your brother. We all will."

"And who is going to protect _you_?" Edeva be pushed his chest back with her finger. "You, Aderthon of the House of Fëanoriel, you aren't all powerful, despite what you might think."

"You speak wiser than your twenty three years would call for," he chuckled. "No, I'm not all powerful. But I'm thirty five and healthy. I am more likely to be able to protect him than no one."

They fell into silence. Edeva watched Elfwine trip forward on a loose stone and she gasped quietly. Eldarion and Elboron chuckled as the boy merely smiled and shook his blonde hair out of his face. He pretended it never happened.

" _Yrch_!" cried Círeth, their rear guard.

Aderthon immediately drew his sword crying, "Orcs!"

Goblins had climbed up from beneath the bridge they were on and lain in wait for them to reach the middle. Aderthon watched as an arrow whistled over his head and struck the first orc in between the eyes.

"Good shot, Fëalas," he muttered to himself as he plunged his blade deep into a goblin's chest.

Edeva swung her twin axes left and right. Fëalas, watching from the cart between loosing arrows, was amazed at the speed and skill of the twenty three year old Rohirric warrior. Edeva was fluid and beautiful to watch in battle. It was mesmerizing.

Elfwine, Elboron, Barahir, and Eldarion were cutting their way forward, allowing Bidor to lead the goat and cart onward off the bridge. The battle was swift and decisive; the goblins never stood a chance.

"We heard fighting!" came a call up ahead.

Five dwarves in armor came running towards them and halted when they saw the company. They looked utterly confused. Bidor explained their objective to journey through Moria and that Lord Durin had granted them safe passage.

"Come, come. The goblins will be back if you linger here too long!" The leader of these new dwarves beckoned for them to follow.

Over the past couple days, they'd grown accustomed to these small pockets of dwarves. They were messanger points throughout Moria, designed to assist with communication between the East and West Entrances. Each outpost was heavily fortified and guarded by at least twelve dwarves, and each one had a couple stabled riding goats.

"Thank you, sirs," Eldarion nodded to them as they were let inside the outpost.

"Welcome to Dolven-view," Bidor told them. "This is the last outpost before the West Gate."

"Good," Edeva muttered.

"Ye not enjoying your stay, lassie?" asked another dwarf, his brown beard braided intricately. "Sorry we aren't up to your standards yet!"

Edeva blushed. "No, master dwarf, it isn't that. I just miss my horse and the open plains. I miss the rolling green hills and starry nights of Rohan."

The dwarf smiled kindly. "I understand the feeling of missing home, Lady…?"

"Edeva."

"Lady Edeva," he nodded. "This _our_ home. We have been away many generations. Yet at last it is ours to reclaim. Thanks to Lord Durin."

The company chatted awhile with the dwarves about mindless things. It was obvious that the dwarves were glad of the company. But at last it was time for sleep.

Edeva ended up huddling against the wall of the cave, unable to sleep. It was Aderthon who kept her company.

"What has you up?" He asked softly, joining her.

She sighed. "I miss Snowheart. She is my other half. I know she is safe, she is a smart horse, but I miss her dearly."

Aderthon nodded but said nothing, he merely sat next to her and offered himself as comfort. After she refused to say more, he finally broke his silence.

"My mother had a horse once that was dearly special to her. Daeroch was his name." He smiled. "She often told stories to us as children of Daeroch."

"What happened to him?" Edeva asked, looking at the older man beside her.

Aderthon sighed. "He was killed in battle. On the Pelennor Fields, shot out from under her by a Southron."

"Wonderful," muttered Edeva.

Aderthon snorted. "You weren't supposed to ask questions about him."

They looked at each other and both laughed a little. Edeva very much liked Aderthon. He was very kind; he had a big heart. Much like his father, it was often said.

"Come on. Get to bed," he insisted quietly. "Hopefully we will be out of Moria by tomorrow evening."

She smiled and lay down. Aderthon told her goodnight before he went to sit beside his sleeping injured sister. Edeva watched him curiously. It seemed as though this was a regular thing for him; it looked practiced. All smiles left his face as he grew troubled by an invisible burden. The fate of his sister had him on edge.

Almost a week and a half had gone by since the attack that had left her injured. Edeva wondered if Aderthon took up a nightly vigil now. She watched him take Fëalas' hand and decided he definitely did this every night.

Slowly, Edeva drifted of to sleep.


	30. Eregion

"Is this the East Gate?" Edeva looked at the bottom of the stairs in wonder.

"Indeed it is!" Bidor smiled and led the cart down the side that had been specially made for carts.

"Thank Elbereth," breathed Barahir.

Bidor laughed softly at his expression of thankfulness. "You are welcome to keep the cart. We will stock you with food for a month!"

Eldarion grinned so wide he looked like a kid. He profusely thanked Bidor and the other dwarves who stood at various carts and mining locations around the East Gate.

They got fruits and vegetables, some fresh meat and fish, bread, cheese, and even a couple bottles of wine. Bidor insisted they needn't repay them. Aderthon and Eldarion objected but Bidor was having none of it.

"Just find someone to heal this lass," he replied, pointing back behind himself to Fëalas.

Finally they were ready to leave. The dwarves heaved open the doors and the evening light blinded them after days in relative darkness. Aderthon took hold of the goat's lead rope and led the cart forward, following Eldarion and Barahir and followed by the rest.

"Farewell!" they cried to the dwarves. "Thank you!"

The dwarves waved and bid them goodbye. Edeva couldn't stop smiling as she breathed in the outside air. They walked out and journeyed around a small pond like water feature, and when they looked up all was beautiful.

The sky was a mess of reds and oranges, with blues and purples mixed in for good measure. Fëalas couldn't stop looking at the sky. It was too pretty.

"From here we travel due North until we hit the river Mitheithel." Eldarion was speaking to Aderthon and Elboron in front. "Once we hit that, we follow it into Rivendell."

"Sounds easy enough," Elboron agreed.

Aderthon snorted. "Which means it will be anything _but_ easy."

"Any idea how long it should take us to hit the Greyflood?" Elboron asked Eldarion, ignoring the pessimism of his friend.

Eldarion shrugged as he continued walking. "We're looking at _at least_ two weeks before we even hit the Greyflood, and then possibly another two weeks before Rivendell."

"Good thing the dwarves gave us so much food," Edeva said, coming up to them.

Aderthon smiled at her. "Truly."

"How many elves remain in Rivendell, Eldarion?" She asked him as they walked.

He replied with a sigh. "One only. The rest have journeyed over the Sea or live in scattered companies."

"This one. You called him Glorfindel, no?" Edeva was curious about where they were going.

He nodded. They walked in silence now, Elboron having dropped back to speak to his brother and sister. Aderthon walked between the cart and Edeva, while Eldarion stood beside her other side.

"Fëalas," Aderthon asked his sister, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she shrugged. "I need to make sure to walk a little before we camp for the night."

For the past two days, Fëalas had been taking small steps toward walking again. She would spend intervals of ten minutes and walk with Aderthon's help, and eventually on her own, to strengthen her muscles.

Aderthon had the cart stop and he helped her down. She could walk decently now, and it was only a matter of time before she could do without the cart. She walked alongside her brother, keeping an eye on Edeva too. The girl was too close to her brother for her liking.

The days passed, and nothing of interest happened. They watched as ruins came and went as they walked, and were careful to avoid any dangerous places. Always ahead of them was the promise of hitting the river Mitheithel, the river Greyflood. Each day they rationed their food and water, replenishing each resource whenever possible, _just_ in case.

Eregion wasn't exactly desolate. But it was _lonely._ Nothing there seemed happy. The trees and the shrubbery just existed. There was no joy in their branches. Even Elfwine noticed.

"Who lived here?" he asked one day. "What people?"

"Elves," replied Finduilas. "A great realm of elves once lived here, Elfwine."

"What happened to them?"

Finduilas sighed. "Sauron."

They said no more of it, instead falling back into silence. The weeks passed, and eventually, halfway through week number three, they heard it.

"That sounds like a river," smiled Aderthon.

And indeed it was. The Greyflood was not far ahead. Now they could begin backtracking up the river to the Last Homely House.

"I don't know," Fëalas murmured to herself. "It's big. And fast."

"You love the water," Círeth said in confusion. "We've swam in the _Anduin_ before. This is nothing!"

Elfwine bent down and sent water flying at her.

She screamed. "Don't splash me! Don't let it touch me!"

The company grew quiet. Aderthon felt his heart sink.

 _Fear of water_. He sighed. _That's often the first sign._

Rabies was setting it.

"Come on, let's get moving. We still have a lot of ground to cover." Eldarion salvaged the situation quickly. "Fëalas, you don't need to go near the water if you don't want to. No one will splash you."

She nodded quickly, glaring at the others. They were all trying to splash her. They knew she didn't like it. Everyone was out to get her.

Or at least, that's how her brain was processing things. Slowly she was slipping deeper into her own mind, where the rabies was twisting reality. Aderthon saw it happening and it broke his heart. This was one thing he couldn't kill, he couldn't protect his little sister from. She just had to fight it, she had to hang on until they could reach Rivendell.

Two weeks. That's all she had to survive. Two weeks and they would hopefully reach Rivendell and Lord Glorfindel.

 _Lord Glorfindel!_ thought Aderthon with a grin. _Oh how I cannot wait to meet him!_

Aderthon was so excited at the prospect of meeting the ancient elf lord. This was an elf he had grown up hearing tales about. This elf battled a Balrog, lived in the Hidden City of Gondolin!

He could barely contain himself at the mere thought of meeting such an elf lord.


	31. Conversation by Moonlight

**Now - Eregion**

Elfwine was up one night on their journey along the Mitheithel, his thoughts far away among the green fields of Rohan. He wished he was there, with his mother and his father. But at the same time, he was glad he had been given permission to travel with his cousins and friends. Guthwinë lay next to him in the grass. Elfwine placed his hand on its worn scabbard and pulled it closer.

He looked across from him and saw Aderthon and Edeva sitting guard. Elfwine had noticed the two of them becoming close over the weeks. Often if Aderthon was not alongside Eldarion and Elboron, he was walking with Edeva. Part of him was glad; he wanted his sister to be happy. But he was also wary. For all the complaining about his sister he did, Elfwine loved her and her company. He didn't want things to change much.

"What's it like?" Aderthon asked her. "Being a Royal Guardsman, I mean."

Edeva shrugged as she leaned against an old ruined brick wall. "I'm only in training right now. But I enjoy it."

"Do the men respect you?" He looked at her curiously. "It took my sisters and your cousin Finduilas a long time to gain respect in Gondor's army."

Edeva sighed and downcast her eyes. "Many still resist my existence. After all, Elfwine is the heralded and beloved prince. I am but the elder sister."

Aderthon nodded. Quickly Edeva amended her statement.

"I do not mind, though," she insisted. "I have no desire to be Queen, to rule Rohan. Besides, my brother is more suited to that role. He has a good mind for diplomacy. I just hit things."

"You perform a very special role," Aderthon protested. "You are protecting someone you hold dear: your brother and future king. King Éomer will not live forever."

"Do not say such things," she said quietly as she downcast her eyes and looked away.

"It is a truth that Men must come to accept, I have found." He frowned.

There was silence for awhile. The few trees that had found to camp near, inside the old ruins of an ancient outpost, trembled in the gentle wind. The fire before them crackled with heat as it warmed them. It was getting colder each day they journeyed northward. The fire staved off the chill.

Shadows danced around them as the moon cast its light down to the earth. Elfwine still watched as Edeva and Aderthon sat together, but soon he was drifting off the sleep, clutching his precious Guthwinë. On the edge of consciousness, he heard like a deep echo, the voice of Aderthon as he sang an ancient hymn of the elves.

" _Snow White, snow white, oh lady clear._

_Oh queen beyond the western sea._

_Oh light to us that wander here_

_Amid the world of woven trees._

_Gilthoniel! Oh Elbereth!_

_Clear are thy eyes and bright they breath!_

_Snow white, snow white, we sing to thee!_

_Thy starlight on the western sea_."

In the morning, the sun dawned bright and early, driving away the dew that lay upon the thickets and leaves. Eldarion told them to ready quickly as he hoped to gain a great distance today. Fëalas was growing worse by the day, by the hour.

"Don't come any closer," she screamed as Aderthon tried to help her into the cart.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Aderthon sighed but let go of her and she climbed in herself. These days she always had her knife at the ready. She only agreed to climb into the cart because it offered a good vantage point and no one could come near her.

 _I didn't get my fair share of food today,_ she realized (in error). _They're trying to starve me. They won't succeed!'_

Thoughts like these were becoming quite regular for Fëalas. She was often convinced that Finduilas was trying to kill her, that Círeth had it out for the whole group and had poisoned the food, or that Eldarion was leading them to their deaths.

She hated the journey everyday, as they carted her along beside the River Greyflood. She was sure they would dump her in while she slept.

 _Joke's on them_ , she laughed to herself. _I just won't fall asleep!_

The others grew weary of her constant whispering and hissing to herself. Aderthon especially was growing disheartened by the day. One of his sisters was dying, another had probably betrayed them all. Only Círeth was still right in the head. They _needed_ to reach Imladris as soon as possible.

Steadily the territory changed. The geography sloped upwards and downwards, but not drastically. More and more trees popped up and the grass grew greener, much greener than it had in Eregion. Flowers, too, began to appear as well as water reeds on the banks of the Mitheithel.

Days passed. A month and a half had passed since they left Rohan. But the days were growing short.

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

"Sire," called a servant girl who came running to catch up with the King and his brothers in law.

Aragorn turned around. "Morlas, correct? What is wrong?"

"Sire, the Palantír. It is glowing sir!"

Aragorn looked at his brothers and they all immediately took off in the direction of the Tower that held the Palantír. The guards at the door were very concerned and nodded in relief when they saw the king and his companions.

Together they went in, shutting the door behind them. Aragorn looked in concern at the glowing sphere. Only a Palantír that was being contacted by another glowed like that.

Aragorn walked forward slowly. He placed his hand upon the stone and saw _him._

" _Greetings, king of the Reunited Kingdom. I am the Red Hand, your doom."_ Halion said this with a smile. " _We will take back the North."_

"We?" asked Aragorn in dread.

Tinneth stepped into view. Her black outfit was accented only by red gemstones and a black and red circlet upon her head. Her silver hair was braided and pleated with red and onyx and leather. She smiled.

" _Hello, uncle."_


	32. The Stranger

"We should be close," Eldarion told Aderthon in a whisper.

They had climbed into a valley and heard afar the sounds of crashing waterfalls. Aderthon glanced back at the sleeping form of Fëalas. She slept seldom these days, and he was glad to see her resting at least a little. Two months since Gondor had passed, and nearly a month since the fateful day that Fëalas had contracted the disease that plagued her mind. Aderthon felt a tear in his eye as he thought about her nearly inevitable fate. Her mind was clouding more and more each day. He hardly recognized her.

As they sat in the dark, the light of the campfire and the moon above them the only thing allowing vision, Aderthon sighed and threw another log into the flames. Eldarion's heart was heavy as well. He did not enjoy seeing Fëalas or Aderthon in pain.

Suddenly they shot up as a shadow of a man passed over them. How the stranger had approached unseen or unheard was unknown to them, and frightened Aderthon at least. Drawing their swords, the two half elves stalked forward.

"Show yourself!" Eldarion hissed angrily.

A light laugh floated towards them and they were instantly put at ease. They could tell immediately: he was elvish. And indeed, when the black cloak was removed from his head, the golden hair of the stranger was unleashed.

"Mae govannen, mellyn," he bowed to them. "For I sense you are friends of the elves."

"Lord Glorfindel?" Eldarion ventured quietly.

The elf looked at him in surprise. "Indeed. Who are you?"

"I am Aderthon, son of Elrohir, and this Eldarion, son of Aragorn."

Glorfindel looked at them softly and in sudden understanding. Now he knew why they seemed so familiar.

Suddenly a scream came from behind them. They whipped around to find Fëalas screaming and pointing at Glorfindel. The entire company was woken up, and half stated in awe at Glorfindel, the other half stated at Fëalas.

"He's here to kidnap me!" screamed the twin. "Keep away from me!"

Glorfindel looked at the two men in confusion. He did not understand what was going on. Why was this peredhil so scared of him?

"Fëalas, this is Glorfindel," Aderthon assured her. "He's a friend."

"He's a monster," she screamed back.

Eldarion leaned in to Glorfindel to explain. "She has contracted the rabies disease. We were hoping you could cure her."

Glorfindel nodded in understanding. Throwing off his cloak entirely to reveal his golden and white tunic, he approached the cart slowly and with ease, whispering elvish prayers and calming verses to keep Fëalas from attacking him.

Elfwine and Edeva were the most in awe of Glorfindel. Elfwine could not get over how powerful he seemed. He commanded respect from the way he walked and talked, but radiated kindness and gentleness about himself.

Fëalas barred her teeth like and animal. She reached nearby and drew out her hunting knife. Standing up in the cart, she leapt forward off it and circled the elf lord. With a sigh, Glorfindel drew his own sword.

Fëalas ran at him, but was clumsy and nearly fell. Glorfindel side stepped her and swung his sword to knock her blade from her hands. Sheathing his own once that was done, he grabbed her by the arms and restrained her. She screamed and screamed and screamed. She even tried to bite the elf lord.

Aderthon sighed but went up and threw a punch at her head. It did the trick, knocking her out so Glorfindel could carry her. But first he lay her on the ground.

"She doesn't have long to live," he sighed after a few moments of examining her. "The disease had begun its final stages."

"Can you help her, lord?" begged Aderthon, falling to his knees beside the kneeling elf lord. "Please?"

"I will do my utmost to cure her," he nodded. "Come. We are not far from Imladris. It is abandoned now, save by myself, yet there are many rooms that are still preserved and intact."

He lay Fëalas in the cart once again. All through the exchange, the others had been silent, unable to form words or sentences in the presence of the elf lord, Glorfindel. But now he was surrounded by the woken, eager company.

"Lord Glorfindel," Círeth ventured as they walked. "Lord, you knew both my parents from an early age did you not?"

Glorfindel smiled. "Indeed. I taught both Elrohir and Míril basic swordplay."

Círeth nodded and continued. "Do you know any… interesting tales of their adventures?"

He looked at her in amusement, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Of course I do."

She began grinning like a child. Before they left the company of Glorfindel, she intended to find out all she could about her parents' childhoods. Maybe it was something she could tell Fëalas when she was better. Because she _was_ going to get better. She had to. She was her twin.

A few hours later, they caught sight of Rivendell for the first time. Arched walk ways, trellised gardens, and large trees were the components of their first impressions. Trees seemed to have sprouted out and were over growing some parts of the house and adjacent buildings. Glorfindel led them to a bridge that crossed a gap and a waterfall. He instructed them to leave the cart. Instead he lifted the still unconscious Fëalas out of it and took her across the bridge silently. The rest followed close behind.

Finduilas was awestruck by the magnificence of the Elven home. She had never seen much of elves besides Amon Loth in Ithilien. This was so far beyond that, she was struck dumb. Even in the starlight, nay, _because of_ the starlight, it was picturesque and mysterious. But the full moon cast a decent amount of light, and they could see everything before them.

The roar of the waterfall drowned out almost all other noise, including the ever present chirping of crickets and the humming of Barahir within their group. He had taken to humming old lullabies when he walked, and it now brought comfort to the group.

"Follow me," Glorfindel told them quietly as they left the falls behind. "First I shall take Fëalas to an inner chamber and begin her care. Then I shall show you to your rooms."


	33. In the House of Lord Glorfindel

"He's so… tall," Elfwine murmured to Edeva as they lay in beds in the room Glorfindel had shown them to.

"He's an elf, a full blooded elf," Barahir pointed out as he rolled over in bed. "Of course he's tall."

Elfwine lay awake in the dark room. He huffed. Why did his cousin have to be right? All the time? He stared up at the ceiling. In the room were he, his sister, Barahir, and Finduilas.

"Edeva?" He whispered again.

She groaned. "What?"

"Do you think Glorfindel can heal Fëalas?"

"I don't know," she sighed deeply.

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke up again, much to the exasperation of the others. Except Finduilas. She was sound asleep.

He began again. "Edeva?"

"Go to bed, Elfwine," Barahir hissed in irritation.

Meanwhile, Aderthon, Eldarion, Elboron, and Círeth were all wide awake in another room not far away. Though each was certainly awake, they all remained silent, listening instead to their own thoughts. The foremost of the group was using all his strength to not jump up and pace. He knew Glorfindel was with Fëalas. But he could hear her screams deep in his mind and it plagued him. He could not rest.

Elboron acutely sensed his beating heart. He could hear it in his ears and feel it in his chest. Rapidly now, faster and faster. Finally he took a deep breath in, calming himself. Was Fëalas alright? Would she be cured? He found himself wondering these things, mulling them over and over in his head.

Across from him, Círeth was silently crying. Her tears were more found of fear than sadness. Her sister's life hung in the balance; there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to hug Fëalas, to comfort her. But she could not. For all the hard exterior Círeth put up, she loved her twin. They had helped each other through thick and thin, and now there was a good chance she would be the only redhead left in the House of Fëanoriel.

Eldarion's mind was wrapped up in all sorts of dark thoughts. In his head he saw the deaths of his friends happening before his eyes. It was only going to start with Fëalas; it was going to get worse. He didn't know how or when, but things were bound to decline even further.

By the morning in the Last Homely House, Glorfindel was kneeling beside an unconscious Fëalas. He had placed her in an induced sleep to help the healing process. He strove with her mind, did his best to patch together the broken parts and drive out the disease. With the help of athelas and waters of Rivendell, he had calmed her into a sleep, though he had a bite mark and clawed skin to prove his struggle with the girl.

He had high hopes she would be cured. But now he had more important matters to attend to. He rose from his position next to Fëalas and pulled the white covers up over her. Laying his hand upon her forehead, he said a silent blessing and smiled softly. He pushed her deep red hair from her face and couldn't help but remember the red headed twin sons of Fëanor. From what he knew of Cireth and Fëalas, they were similar to Amrod and Amras of old. Hunters, protectors. Lovers of the wild. It was a pity that the wild betrayed them this time.

Glorfindel left the room and slowly shut the door. Most of the Homely House, including the Library of Elrond and the healing rooms, were still well kept. Glorfindel made sure of it. He walked down some stairs and into a room where he'd asked the other eight to congregate in the morning. There he found Eldarion, Aderthon, Elboron, Cireth, Finduilas, Barahir, Edeva, and Elfwine all together. As soon as he entered, Aderthon and Cireth rushed him.

"How is she?" asked Aderthon, the only question on his heart.

Glorfindel smiled softly. "You reached here in time. She will live, and there should be no lasting effects."

The panic level in the entire room diminished and soon Glorfindel was faced with other, less pressing questions. From Edeva he received questions on the history of Rivendell. From Elfwine, questions of the banners and sigils around him. Elboron wanted to know if the famed Library of Elrond was still around. Cireth begged to know if there were any elven weapons left. Patiently he answered their questions, and in the end he told them they would be best served by exploring the Valley themselves.

"I shall take any who wish to see it to the library, and then to the room that Miril once lived in. Perhaps that would interest some of you?" Glorfindel smiled at the reactions of the children of Elrohir.

Edeva, Elfwine, Finduilas, and Barahir went off on their own to explore the outside of the Valley. They wished to see the beautiful architecture and the flowing waters. But the other four remained with Lord Glorfindel. By his side they walked, taking in his every word. When at last they reached Elrond's Library, Glorfindel pushed the doors open and they walked inside. It was magnificent. Two levels tall, floor to ceiling with books, white and gold and blue accents everywhere. The books were all different, but none less beautiful than its neighbor. Instantly, though, Aderthon was drawn to a dark blue covered book with a star on the front.

Glorfindel laughed. "Truly you are a son of Miril Fëanoriel!"

They looked at him in confusion. What did he mean?

"That was the book your mother was most fond of, Aderthon." Glorfindel took it from him and opened to a passage. "She loved reading about the Princes and Ladies of the Eldar. The history of the elves, your history, her history. Even before she knew she was descended from one of those great princes of the eldar, she was fascinated by them."

Aderthon and Cireth both smiled. They loved their mother, and could not wait to hear more about her time in Rivendell from Glorfindel.

"Here," said the elf lord, handing Aderthon the blue book. "Keep it. It is yours now."


	34. Silver and Black

**A/N:** _So I actually wrote this last night/this morning and finished around 2am because I wanted to get a chapter out... Then fell asleep while publishing it._

**Now - Angmar**

Tinneth panted harshly as she lay beside Halion who was also breathing heavily. She smiled and closed her eyes as she caught her breath and then rolled over, planting a kiss on her lover's lips. Their warm bodies heated the mattress comfortably. Suddenly a rapid knocking came from the door. Tinneth sat up, pulling the sheets so they covered her chest. Her long, silver hair fell about her gracefully. Halion slipped on pants quickly as he yelled for the messenger to come in.

"My apologize, lord," cowered a goblin in the doorway, "but the Palantír is glowing!"

Halion nodded and sent the goblin servant in his way. Turning back to his love, their gazes met and both smiled. Aragorn was finally ready to speak.

Tinneth Aradheleth stood and let the sheets fall from her uncovered body. She smirked as Halion stared at her while she moved to the wardrobe.

"Stop it, _melda_." She teased him lightly, slipping into a silver grey nightgown and placing the black circlet upon her silver head.

Halion Carnimendo, lord of Carn Dûm, chuckled to his lover as he slipped on a loose fitting white shirt over his black pants. Placing his own dark circlet atop his black hair, the red rubies sparkled in the iron and obsidian core. He had a king to speak to.

Taking Tinneth's delicate hand in his own, they walked up the tower stairs into the main treasure room. Passing the guards with nodding heads, Halion opened the door and they wandered in. The floors were cool to the touch on Tinneth's bare feet but she didn't mind. Instead she rather liked it, was fond of it. But the most impressive thing was the glowing Palantír at the center of the room which Halion approached and placed his hand on.

"Greetings, King Elessar," he said with a smirk. "Did you wish to speak with me?"

" _I wish to speak to Tinneth,"_ said Aragorn coldly. " _I do not recognize your claim to this stone."_

"You wound me," he faked. "But very well she is here."

Tinneth stepped up to the stone, trembling. Her hands had longed to touch its cold, black surface, underneath which swirling colors swam. As her hand met the stone, it felt stuck to it as if with a magnet.

She saw in the stone Aragorn, face troubled. He frowned and finally his expression changed as he recognized her appearance.

" _Tinneth, my niece,"_ he frowned with a sigh. " _Why do you pledge your life to such a man as this traitor?"_

"Traitor?" She hissed in anger. "Halion is no traitor. He is only trying to regain what was rightfully his. And restore to me the birthright that should be mine!"

" _And what birthright is that?"_ Aragorn asked quietly, no expression on his face. " _What birthright do you seek?"_

"I am a child of the blood of Fëanor! I deserve riches and power beyond _anything_ you could grant me," she insisted loudly. "I deserve to be treated like a queen. And I _shall_ be a queen, dark and beautiful!"

" _You are a member of a distinguished house,"_ Aragorn agreed. " _But you are allowing your avarice and your wrath get the better of you. Come_ home, _Tinneth."_

"I _am_ home," she growled angrily. "I belong here, with Halion. I belong here, where soon we shall rule as king and queen of the North!"

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

Aragorn took his hands from the Palantír and covered it up. With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead and turned to Elrohir and Míril who stood behind him, pacing, awaiting news of their daughter.

"I fear she is far gone," Aragorn told them quietly. "Tinneth has embraced the evil of Angmar. It fulfills her desire for herself that she be a queen. She thinks Halion can give her that."

"The first priority is knowing that our children are riding into a war," Elrohir pointed out to his king and adopted brother.

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "Arwen returned with Amdirien from Dunland with news that the treaty had officially been signed. We are now free to move troops through Dunland as we wish."

"How many are we sending North?" asked Míril. "How many are _already_ North?"

"3,000 men and women, 700 of those are highly trained Dunédain. The rest are prepared soldiers and guards I keep up there," Aragorn paused and sighed. "Or they are townsfolk with limited fighting abilities."

"And we will send?" Elrohir said in question.

"5,000 men on foot and 1,000 cavalry men." Aragorn nodded. "With Angmar befriending the goblin king of Mount Gundabad, we need to send as many people as we can spare."

Míril and Elrohir nodded. Aragorn sighed and frowned sympathetically. It was obvious that the two parents were trying very hard to hold it together.

"Go, rest," he ordered them. "Dwelling on what has happened will do nothing."

They didn't have to be told twice.

* * *

**Now - Rivendell**

"How is she?" Aderthon asked Glorfindel quickly over lunch.

The table was laden with fresh venison, salad, vegetables from a garden, and mushrooms picked in the valley. They were ravenously tearing away at the food.

"She seems to be stable," Glorfindel replied. "I am keeping her asleep for a few days to let her heal at her own pace."

"Can we see her?" Círeth asked him. "I'd like to see her."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "Of course."

Eldarion was glad of this news. He wished he could've prevented the damage done to Fëalas in the first place, but knowing her recovery was a very real, even probable, event was comforting.

"We thank you, Lord," he told the elf. "We are indebted to you."

Glorfindel laughed. "Nonsense. It seems almost my job to care for lost children. First Aragorn, then Míril. Now your group. I'm beginning to enjoy it!"

Edeva shifted at being called a child but she said nothing to challenge him. It wasn't her place. But she shot Aderthon a look and he chuckled silently in response. Neither of them noticed Elfwine looking decidedly irritated at the silent exchange between his sister and his mentor.

After lunch, Aderthon and Círeth were led by Glorfindel to a room of the Last Homely House. With a key, he opened the door and showed them inside.

"What is this?" Círeth asked in confusion.

"This was your mother's room," explained the elf lord. "When she lived here in Rivendell, she slept here."

Aderthon stepped forward into the room. With a small smile he touched the soft bed and felt the sheets with his hand. He was very excited. Perhaps Glorfindel would show them their father's room as well!

"What's this?" Círeth murmured.

She had been exploring a drawer next to the bed. She lifted a false panel from the drawer and placed it on the bed. Glorfindel and Aderthon came over to take a look. In the drawer was a book.

Círeth picked it up and examined it. It was a diary, or so it appeared to be, though the first several pages with identifying information was gone.

"That is a rare find!" cried Glorfindel. "For that was written by Lord Maglor himself!"

"Maglor wrote this?" asked Aderthon, mouth agape in awe. " _The_ Maglor?"

"Yes!" The blonde elf nodded. "I would recognize such handwriting anywhere. What a rare find, indeed. Keep it safe!"


	35. Preparations for War

A/N: After a long delay, I have another chapter for you. Unfortunately my explanation for the delay is simple: mental health issues got in the way.

**Now - Rivendell**

The next morning, Glorfindel took Aderthon, Círeth, Eldarion, and Elboron deep into the Homely House to find Fëalas. When they arrived, her pale face looked like a doll as she slept soundly and without moving anything but her chest. Her cheeks were slightly rosy, a healthier shade than they had been in many weeks and for this, her friends were thankful.

"She looks quite peaceful," Aderthon said with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

The other three agreed. Círeth, Eldarion, and Elboron watched Fëalas sleeping alongside Aderthon. Glorfindel, retrieving a cocktail of herbs and medicines, knelt beside her and lay a hand over her forehead. Breathing a word of elvish, he woke her. Her eyes fluttered open and she glanced around at the ceiling before her eyes rested on the golden haired elf.

"Am I dead?" she asked innocently.

Glorfindel smiled kindly, moving to help her sit up. "No, child. You are very much alive."

Suddenly her eyes caught her brother and sister's gazes. With a gasp she grinned and tried to stand, but Glorfindel held her down, telling her to stay put. Instead, the others came to her.

"How do you feel?" Aderthon asked in utmost concern as he sat beside her on her bed. "Are you feeling alright?"

Fëalas crunched her eyebrows together as she weighed the question in her mind. Part of her wanted to say she was fine, but the other half of her mind still felt… off.

"I feel…" she trailed off before continuing, "I feel strange."

Glorfindel flashed a small smile and nodded. "It will take a few days yet for your mind to fully recover. You are lucky you found me when you did. Another week or two, and I may not have been able to help."

Eldarion nodded. "Indeed, the grace of the Valar was with us."

"Truly." Glorfindel smiled. "Now. Let us leave her to rest." He turned back to face Fëalas and laid a hand on her arm. "Sleep, child. I will return soon."

Fëalas nodded with a yawn. They left her in the room and retreat outside to where the others remained. When they found the others, Elfwine and Barahir were sparring. Elfwine, though tall like most Rohirrim, was not as built as Barahir. Finduilas called out pointers to the young man as he faced her brother with swords. Guthwinë flashed in the sunlight as it clanged against Barahir's blade.

"Good shot," Eldarion nodded with a smile. "Keep going!"

Elfwine grinned and was distracted just long enough for Barahir to land a hit with the flat of his sword onto Elfwine's arm.

"Pay attention!" Edeva scolded her brother fiercely. "Or are you going to let your cousin beat the prince of Rohan?"

"Ai! In my defense," Barahir scowled at his cousin Edeva, "I _am_ the son of a Prince. I'm no commoner."

Everyone laughed. Glorfindel watched the dueling cousins with ease and he smiled fondly. Aderthon noticed.

"Would you face me, Lord?" He asked the elf politely. "It would be my honor."

Glorfindel smirked but inclined his head. "If you wish."

Glorfindel swept a sword from his side and gestured for Aderthon to take the middle of the courtyard as the other two moved out of the way. Aderthon drew his own sword, a long blade of beautiful mannish craftsmanship. But against the slightly curved, long blade of elvish make, it paled in comparison.

Círeth smiled and nodded. "Begin."

The blades flew through the air. At first, Aderthon held his own fairly well. He never managed to land a blow, but he kept Glorfindel's strikes at bay. He felt good about himself and the cheers of his comrades thrilled him.

He began getting too cocky. He made some mistakes, gave Glorfindel several "ins". With each passing blow, he weakened. He couldn't keep up with the speed and intricacy of the elf Lord's prowess. And soon he was on the ground.

"A valiant effort." Glorfindel smiled, offering him a hand up. "You are almost as well trained as your mother and father. _Almost._ "

Aderthon just smiled and nodded, standing up with his help. "Thank you, lord. Truly you are magnificent with a sword!"

"I was trained in Valinor for a different kind of combat, against foes the likes of which I hope you never see." Glorfindel sighed. "Fortunately my teacher was more dangerous even than these."

They pressed him for more information, but all he told them was to have patience. If they were supposed to find out such things, they would. An altogether unsatisfactory answer, they complained to each other for a long while when Glorfindel went to check on Fëalas.

* * *

**Now - Gondor**

"The army should be ready to move out in two weeks," Faramir told King Elessar. "Dol Amroth's knights and infantry are here already. The main city's garrisons are prepping as we speak, and squadrons from the other provinces are arriving every day."

Aragorn nodded. He and his steward, Faramir, sat together in a room of maps and troop placements. The mahogany table in the center was filled with reports, lists, and requests for signatures. It was the business of war.

Aragorn had called the council meeting two days before. Immediately they had voted to send an army north. Queen Arwen had secured safe passage through Dunland alongside their daughter Amdirien. Now it was time to act.

"Have messages from Rohan come here yet?" asked Aragorn. "Are they sending aid?"

"Two thousand cavalry," said Faramir with a nod. "Led by Lord Elden, the son of Erkenbrand."

"That is good," Aragorn replied with a sigh. "For this could be a hard fight. My scouts I sent out a month ago have returned from Mount Gundabad. Many goblins are gathering there."

"Have we sent word to Lord Thorin Stonehelm?" Faramir asked in concern. "Surely they need to know."

"Yes," the king smiled with a strain. "I sent two messengers to him recently. I expect they will arrive within a week or two and then we shall see his response." He sighed. "But we cannot wait for him. We must hope he sends troops."

Suddenly the door burst open. A woman with dark hair neatly curled and drawn back, her dress of white and light blue silk, rushed in and scowled.

"Estelwen! What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn quickly stood upon his daughter's entrance.

"What is the meaning of your forbidding me to ride North alongside the other healers?" She glared daggers at her father. "I am as capable, _more_ I dare say, than any of them!"

Aragorn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are too precious to me to put you in danger."

"Nonsense!" She folded her arms in protest. "You sent Eldarion, the _heir_ to the kingdom, to the North!"

Aragorn sighed. "Estelwen-"

"No. I will not be kept here like a doll to be protected. I want to defend my home, my friends, my _family,_ as much as anyone else." She went forward to get father and spoke more gently. "You know I can do better than the ordinary healers. What if you need that?"

"I will speak to your mother," he relented at last. "But do not get your hopes up."


	36. Beleg's Legacy

**Now - Rivendell**

"I feel much better," insisted Fëalas as Glorfindel checked in on her a few days later. "May I please get up?"

Glorfindel smiled and offered her his hand. Very excited, she took it and stood, her white dress like garment falling to her ankles as she did so. With her brilliant red hair cascading down her back, though tangled, she truly looked better than she had in a month.

"Your clothes are over in that trunk," gestured the elf lord. "I will wait outside while you change. From there we will go see the others."

Fëalas nodded. The first thing she did when Glorfindel left the room was brush her hair. Now much less tangled, it was less of a mess. Putting down the brush, she rummaged through her clothing and slipped into a set of her ranger garb. Now she felt better.

As she left the room, Glorfindel nodded and told her to follow. "There's one thing we must do before we see to the others. For in vaults of Rivendell, many artifacts remain. And one of these I think will do you well."

With her curiosity perked, she followed him through Imladris. Eventually they came to a large door. Producing a key, Glorfindel unlocked the door and swung it slowly open. It was surprisingly well lit for a room with only a skylight for lighting. Fëalas looked around eagerly. Glorfindel left her side and retrieved something from a long but skinny chest.

"Long ago, this arrow was carried by Beleg Cúthalion, master of archery. It went by the name of Dailir, and was Beleg's favorite arrow. Broken upon his death, Mablung recovered it and had it mended into the silver arrow we now have here." Glorfindel paused he turned to show her the silver dipped arrow he held. "Pilinel, we call it now. The Silver Arrow."

Fëalas looked at it in hallowed amazement. She took several steps forward, reaching out to touch it. Glorfindel handed it to her.

"Keep it, Fëalas. Use it wisely." He gave her a soft smile. "You have in your heart great kindness. Use this when kindness fails."

She nodded and placed it in a quiver that Glorfindel handed her, a quiver of elven arrows. They took the artifact back to her room and placed it with her clothes.

"Whatever happened to Beleg's bow?" Fëalas asked as they walked from her room to find the others. "If we have the arrow, where's the bow?"

"Belthronding, his great black yew bow, was buried alongside him. I suppose it is under the waves now." Glorfindel shrugged lightly before egging her onward. "Come. I am sure they are eager to see you."

Indeed they were. When Aderthon caught sight of his sister, he dropped his sword mid spar with Elfwine and ran over to her. With a heartfelt embrace, he squeezed her close. Círeth was next. And then to her surprise, Elboron.

"Glad you are doing better," he smiled.

She blushed inexplicably. "Thank you."

Eldarion hugged her next, glad she was alright. When everyone's congratulations had been said, they turned to Glorfindel.

"When should we leave?" sighed Eldarion. "I don't suppose you will come with us?"

"Nay, not yet," Glorfindel said with a head shake. "It is not yet time for me to head north."

"Not _yet_?" asked a confused Círeth. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

They were silent to see what he would say. The elf lord shook his head earnestly. The slight breeze blew through the trees in the courtyard like music behind his words.

"It is not yet time. I feel that time may be soon, but you must trust me." Glorfindel smiled. "As for _your_ departure. I can say only this: each day my sight north diminishes. I know not what it means, but I can sense less _light_."

"We shall leave tomorrow," Eldarion said with a sigh after several moments of intense silence. "We need to move North."

"I suggest going by way of the Shire," said Glorfindel. "Head West and then North, first on the East-West Road."

"It is a pity we cannot enter the Shire," Finduilas frowned. "It would be a nice place to visit I should think."

The children of Gondor at least had grown up with tales of halflings and green hills. None had been to the Shire, for Aragorn forbade it by law. No big person was allowed entry into the hobbits' land.

"I have never been," admitted Glorfindel. "But I have known several hobbits in my life. They are a marvelous people."

* * *

**Now - Annuminas**

Bergil, Captain of the Northern Dunédain rangers, called together all his informants late that night in the inner sanctuary of the main Dunédain building of Annuminas. Bergil, son of the late guard of Prince Faramir, Beregond, was captain of the Northern Dunédain. At 47 years of age, he had spent many years up in the North.

Bergil sighed as he listened to the reports of his top scouts. "How many are we talking?"

"Roughly four thousand Angmarin soldiers, sir. And a good seven thousand goblins is our best guess." The fair haired young man frowned. "And we can't get in touch with the South any time soon without a Palantír."

Bergil sighed and nodded. "I know, Celeblas. It is my hope that King Elessar is sending someone North. For that is our only hope."

"We need more than _someone_ ," a man groaned quite loudly. "We need an army!"

"The Valar will help us," Bergil assured him. "Trust in the gods."

"Lord Aragorn will send help," said an old woman sitting at the table. She must've been almost seventy years old.

"Lady Althea," Celeblas sighed. "Do you really think the messenger even got to Gondor?"

"Why shouldn't he have?" Althea protested vocally. "He's of the Dunédain! The son of a true ranger, a son of a ranger from before the rule of King Elessar. A pure blood!"

"So you've said," Bergil nodded. "And I tend to agree."

That shut the others up from complaining. Althea and Bergil were the two most respected members of the Northern Dunédain. If they wanted peace in the council, there would be peace.

"Until then, I want to double the scouts north and south. We need to make sure the Shire is protected from this menace." Bergil sighed. "Celeblas, organize the south wardens. I'll organize the north."


	37. Inn at Bree

"Is everyone packed?" Eldarion asked this as he walked up and down the hallway connecting the two rooms the group had stayed in.

A week had gone by, a week since their first step inside Imladris. Glorfindel had given Fëalas the all clear yesterday, and today Eldarion decided it'd be best for them to get moving. He could _feel_ something horribly wrong was happening in the North. And they needed to get their to aid them.

Everyone was ready, their packs all together and their goat laden with food stuffs and clothes. It was winter, and the North would be cold by the time they reached there. Glorfindel told them to expect another three weeks' travel to Annuminas. The plan was simple- go west on the East-West Road until Bree. From there, they were to take a direct route north and east to Annuminas. There was a small portage way style road that ran that way, and Eldarion decided to try it.

"We're all ready," said Aderthon as he loaded the last food pack onto their beast of burden. "Shall we?"

Glorfindel bowed to them. He smiled. "Farewell, my friends. We may meet sooner than you think, but for now, may Elbereth guide you."

"You as well, lord," Eldarion said with a bow. "We are in your debt."

He chuckled lightly but waved farewell as the group left Rivendell. They traveled hard for many days. By the end of the third day, they had left the Trollshaws behind, crossing over the Last Bridge. The East-West Road was well taken care of once past the Bridge. It made going easier.

Along the way, the company ran into a group of dwarves on their way to Eregion and Moria with messages from Ered Luin. They camped together for a night, trading stories. The company refused to give up their true names, but few questions were asked in either direction.

By the ninth day, they reached Weathertop. In the end, the group elected not to climb it. Many of them wished to see the ancient monument, but they did not want to draw unintended attention.

So by the fifteenth day from Rivendell, they saw a settlement by midday.

"Bree!" breathed Fëalas. "It's Bree!"

"Indeed," Eldarion nodded with a small smile. "We shall rest at the Prancing Pony tonight."

They reached the town by evening. The dying light of day cast dark shadows around the place. The gatekeeper let them in, curiously glancing at the pack-goat, but asking few questions.

He directed them towards the inn. "Old Barliman will give yah some rooms."

"The sign at the Prancing Pony!" Fëalas squeaked giddily.

"Stay out here while Aderthon and I speak to the Innkeeper," Eldarion told them.

He and Aderthon walked into the inn, wiping their feet on an old mat. They walked to the counter and waited to be helped.

"What can I do for yah?" said an old man with no hair but a scraggly white beard on his face. "Who have we here?"

"We would like four rooms please," Eldarion said. "All for big people. We are messengers from King Elessar heading North."

"Of course, of course!" He grinned. "Old Barliman is happy to have yah! I'll send old Nob to take care of your steeds. The rest of your company is welcome to come in. I'll show yah to your rooms!"

Aderthon grinned and retrieved their companions. Barliman Butterbur looked at them in amazement but shuffled along to take them to a set of rooms. Once that was done, he invited them to join the company in the tavern.

"We will, thank you!" Aderthon nodded.

Eldarion raised an eyebrow but laughed at his enthusiasm once Barliman Butterbur had left. Everyone left their packs in their respective rooms before congregating in Eldarion and Aderthon's.

"I'm going to the tavern," Aderthon said. "Anyone else coming?"

In the end, Eldarion, Círeth, Fëalas, and Elboron all agreed to go with him. The others were tired and wanted rest, and had no desire to go sit in a loud, smelly, smoke filled room. In the tavern, the guests stopped speaking upon seeing the newcomers enter, but only for a split second. Before too long, the noise level returned to normal as the group slid into a large booth. What the group didn't realize was that a special pair of hobbits was in the room.

"I still think we should visit Gondor soon," Pippin frowned to Merry as he sipped his pint. "It's about time! It's been years since we were there."

"I do wish to see Rohan again," nodded Merry. "I want to meet the Prince. Elfwine, Éomer said his name was in his letters."

The two friends chugged down their beer together. Nostalgically looking around the bar, remembering how they had met Strider that fateful day thirty-six years ago, they looked at the patrons.

"Hold on," Pippin frowned, furrowing his brow. "Who are they?"

Merry turned around and glanced at the company. He looked confused.

"They are too fair to be human, but they are not elves," Pippin added.

Merry nodded. "Let's go ask them!"

The hobbits stood from their table, standing almost five foot, huge for the little people (thanks to the Ent draughts). Curiously heading towards the booth of the company, they cleared their throats to interrupt the conversation.

"Excuse me, good people," Merry smiled. "We wished to welcome you to Bree!"

"Thank you, master," bowed Eldarion, responding even before turning to see them. "Who do we have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, and this is Peregrine Took." He bowed low. "And you are?"

" _The_ Merry and Pippin?" gasped Fëalas. "From the stories our parents tell?"

"Who might your parents be, lady?" Pippin looked in confusion, for few outside the immediate people he had been in contact with, at least outside the Shire, new of his involvement in the tales of the ring.

"Míril and Elrohir," replied Aderthon, smiling. "I am Aderthon, and these are my sisters Círeth and Fëalas."

"I am Elboron, son of Eowyn and Faramir."

Finally Eldarion spoke, grinning. "I am Eldarion, son of Aragorn and Arwen. Truly it is an honor to meet you, for we have heard much of you!"

Pippin and Merry were flabbergasted. The past was suddenly caught up with them! They had so many questions, for all of them!


	38. Penalty of Death

**Now - Bree**

"Truly?" gasped Pippin. "I can hardly believe it! The last time I would've seen you was when the three of you," he flailed his arms at the thirty five year olds, "were five."

"Same for me," Merry agreed. "Why come you here?"

"Perhaps it'd best if you return to our chambers. These are matters we should not speak of so openly," Elboron reminded them. "Come."

Eldarion agreed wholeheartedly. He led the party back to the room where he and Aderthon were to sleep. All five of the company, plus the two hobbits, filed in. The wooden beams of the floor creaked beneath their every footfall, but it was not so loud as to cause concern. Pippin shut the door behind him as he was last to enter.

"So what brings you to Bree, and further on perhaps to the Shire?" Merry asked again.

Eldarion sat on his bed next to Elboron. He sighed and rubbed his forehead in stress before beginning his tale.

"A little over three months ago, a messenger arrived in Gondor from the North." He paused before continuing. "He brought troubling news, news of Lady Tinneth's disappearance."

"Míril and Elrohir must be devastated," Pippin frowned. "I can only imagine if my own son, Faramir, went missing!"

"Indeed," Eldarion agreed solemnly. He continued the tale. "After many days, nine of us were chosen to set out North where we will try to find Tinneth and stop whatever evil is growing in the North."

"Nine?" Merry asked in surprise, looking around as if expecting others to come out of the woodwork. "Who else?"

"Edeva and Elfwine, the children of Éomer and Lothiriel. And my siblings Finduilas and Barahir," Elboron told them. "They are sleeping."

"Edeva and Elfwine have come?" Merry asked excitedly with a small smile. "Wonderful!"

"Danger you say?" Pippin reeled the conversation back in. "What danger?"

"We don't rightly know," frowned Círeth. "Not that I know of at least."

The three men shared a look. Círeth and Fëalas looked confusedly at them.

"What do you know," growled Círeth. "What have you been hiding?"

Aderthon sighed and shook his head sadly. "All we have is merely poor conjecture. Nothing solid."

"Surely there is something to go on," Fëalas prompted them immediately, eager for more information. "Something to help us."

"Alright," Eldarion sighed. "All cards on the table, I suppose."

Aderthon pouted and looked to protest, but Elboron touched his arm and lightly shook his head. They _had_ to let Círeth and Fëalas know of their sister's potentially danger.

"There is a sorcerer in the North, in Angmar. A man left over from Sauron's days. He's called the Red Hand." Eldarion began explaining to the four who had never heard the news before. "This Red Hand has a fascination with Fëanorians, according to our sources. He seeks to corrupt the remaining members."

"Tinneth," growled Círeth.

"We don't know anything for sure," Aderthon jumped in. "Nothing's certain!"

Merry spoke up after a long silence. "We should have answers tomorrow morning."

The five companions were silenced in surprise. Eldarion looked the most confused.

"How so?" he asked the hobbit.

"We are here to meet with the Dunédain tomorrow. Bergil himself is coming!" Pippin smiled fondly as he remembered Bergil, son of Beregond.

"Bree is commonly our meeting place. Old Barliman let's us all have a room to discuss matters," Merry explained more deeply. "Since big people aren't allowed in the Shire, this works well."

Eldarion sighed. "Let's hope they have some answers."

* * *

**Now - Angmar**

Tinneth stood watching the training troops. Her dark, blood red dress and onyx crown with a corset of black, iron armor was menacing. Her silver hair was plated with onyx and rubies. Aradheleth the troops called her, the Royal Terror, for few dared to speak her given name. Only Halion had that privilege.

Strapped on either side of her black belt were her twin swords. Biter and Pincer they were nicknamed by the goblins she trained. For they were old elvish blade which burned them when coming in contact with goblin skin.

"These look ready, do they not?" came a sly, low voice below her the crept beneath her skin in a not unpleasant way.

"Carnimendo, my love," she smiled at Halion. "Indeed they do. As do my current goblins."

"I'd say one more month and we're in business," he grinned. "Are you ready to conquer the world, _melda_?"

Tinneth narrowed her eyes and smiled as she watched the Angmarin troops. "Yes."

* * *

**Now - Dunland**

"We are a month and a half out from Annuminas, sir," Elladan told Aragorn in their weekly meeting. "We are making fast time with these horses."

Estelwen, outside her father's tent, was suddenly distracted from eavesdropping. A few soldiers were watching her with amusement and she suddenly felt somewhat guilty.

 _I suppose they know I'm eavesdropping,_ she thought. _I'll just ask Father later about the meeting._

Estelwen put away the knife she had been twirling and wandered towards the food station. A month they had been on the road already, a month and they were half way through Dunland. Another month and a half and they would see the legendary city of Annuminas.

But the reason she had been eavesdropping was simple: what wasn't her father telling the troops? There was a closely guarded secret between Aragorn, Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir. She guessed it had something to do with Tinneth, but what she didn't know. Maybe Tinneth had died?

She picked up a bowl of stew and a bread loaf. Sitting down beside several other healers near a campfire, she tried to relax. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. More wrong even than going to war. And she knew it had something to do with Tinneth's fate.

As soon as she noted the departure of Míril, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elden from her father's tent, she put down her soup bowl and walked brusquely over to it. She didn't even hesitate to walk inside.

"Father," she began immediately. "What is the matter? What aren't you telling me, or the troops?"

Aragorn was caught completely off guard. He straightened up with a sigh and shook his head.

"Father, what is wrong with Tinneth?"

Aragon's head shot up. How could his daughter possibly have known it had to do with her cousin?

 _She's smarter than I give her credit for_ , he smirked to himself.

"Come on," he sighed. "Let's take a walk."

For the next two hours, he laid out to his youngest daughter everything he knew about Tinneth and Halion. Under the stars they talked, Estelwen growing more horrified every second. Her cousin was a traitor.

And traitors had to suffer the penalty of death.


	39. Visitors of a Certain Kind

It was bright and early the next morning when the entire company stirred and went to the tavern area. The five who had stayed up with the hobbits the previous night now told their fellows what had gone down. Elfwine and Edeva were especially eager to see Merry. Edeva remembered him, but the hobbit had never met Elfwine.

They found only two patrons sitting in the tavern: Merry and Pippin. The early daylight streaming through the windows was pleasant, especially compared to what the usually smoke filled inn was like at night. The hobbits smiled and waved them over.

"Master Holbytla," Edeva bowed deeply, referring to Merry as he was known in Rohan. "May I present my brother, Prince Elfwine."

"Lady Edeva! Prince Elfwine!" Merry stood to bow. "It is my honor!"

After the rest of the introductions were made, they sat around a set of tables and talked for a few minutes. That was until three figures, cloaked in greens and browns, stepped into the tavern. They traded few words with old Butterbur before walking straight towards the group.

"We were supposed to meet two here, not eleven," came a gruff voice from beneath a cloak hood. "Yet I am not unhappy at this turn of events. My prince!"

The leader bowed and threw back his hood to reveal a weathered middle aged man with dark hair and blue eyes, face wrinkled with experience and age.

"Lord Bergil!" Eldarion said with a grin. "Too long has it been since we've last shook hands!"

Bergil nodded. "Indeed, indeed, my prince. But alas, when we asked Lord Aragorn to send aid, we had hoped for more of an… army…"

"We were sent before aid was asked for," explained Aderthon. "We have been on the road for two and a half months now."

"Indeed?" Bergil nodded. "Then the King may yet send more aid."

"Lord Bergil," Pippin smiled, interrupting the small exchange. "A pleasure."

"Master Thain," Bergil said with a bow. "Master of Buckland. Thank you for meeting us here. We bear grave news indeed. News that I fear we shall all need to hear."

Bergil and his two companions sat down among the company. Slowly they began their tale. They explained how nearly four months ago, Tinneth had returned with a blood lust. She had targeted smaller Dunédain parties on patrols, slaughtering them. A month later, the attacks had stopped without explanation. At least until a formal declaration of war had been issued a month ago. Borne upon the foot of a raven, undoubtedly an enchanted one, the declaration had come from one titled "The Red Hand."

Now skirmishes were common north of Annuminas around Lake Evendim. Angmarin soldiers, goblin grunts, and warg packs roamed the northern borders.

"We do not have enough rangers to protect the entire North," Bergil sighed and turned directly to the hobbits. "That is why we come to you today, lords. We cannot promise complete protection in this trying days."

Pippin nodded thoughtfully. "I will be sure to increase the Bounders around the Shire. We hobbits can help protect ourselves."

"We may also be able to provide food and support of that kind to you," Merry proposed. "Buckland will help for sure!"

"We have remained too long in the shadows," Pippin confirmed. "The Shire must be able to help itself!"

The company spoke long about various happenings in the North. According to the Dunédain, anyone north of Evendim had been moved to the south for their protection.

"As it turns out, the Lossoth of Forochel are being inadvertent allies," Bergil told them. "They protect the Bay of Forochel from Angmar. For indeed if the stories are true, they hate Angmar as much as we do."

"Perhaps in the future they could become more permanent allies." Eldarion nodded thoughtfully.

By now, other patrons had begun to trickle into the inn. Merry and Pippin had to bid farewell to return to their positions in the Shire as Master of Buckland and Thain respectively. It was good timing, however, as by now the Rangers were ready to head North again.

"Let us see if we can't find enough horses for you around Bree," Bergil murmured.

They spent the day scouring Bree, Archet, and Combe for steeds. In the end they had seven for the nine riders. Fëalas rode with Elboron while Elfwine doubled with Barahir. It worked out well.

"Shall we head out, then," Bergil asked them respectfully. "I at least am ready to reach the North again."

And so they set out on horseback. Twelve days it took to reach Annuminas. The road was easy enough, but the sheer distance contributed to the time. But the time they reached the city, three months from Gondor had gone by.

The city was beyond what any of them had imagined. Huge grey stones made up the buildings, and banners of the Reunited Kingdom and Arnor flew and fluttered in the winter wind. A light snow was on the ground, adding to the haunting look of Annuminas as it drove everyone indoors.

"Welcome to Annuminas," Bergil said with a small smile.

The company was more than a little glad to finally have reached their destination. In the distance, down a large sloping hill from the main building of Annuminas, they caught sight of Lake Evendim. Beyond that, ruined towers and fortresses dotted the forested landscape. Pine trees towered above the ground in every direction.

"Impressive." Círeth nodded quickly. "Most impressive."

The frozen grass crunched under the boots of the company. Small faces of children peeped out of windows and doors to watch the soldiers go by. An adult or two would catch sight of them and some even recognized Eldarion, or even more rarely, Aderthon.

"Morion!" Bergil shouted to a young man who was chuckling with a blushing girl across the way. "Quit flirting with Aewon's daughter and help get these horses in the stables."

Morion sighed and bid farewell to the girl before running up to them. As they dismounted, he led the horses into a large stable.

"And this goat?" He asked Bergil.

Bergil shrugged. "Put it with the horses."

From there, the company was led inside a large hall. A huge fire was roaring on the far end and the walk to it was pleasant. They were glad to be here, having returned to the North at last.


	40. Hopeful News

**Now - Tharbad**

The army was making very good time. Three weeks had gone by since Dunland, and the army was at the ruins of Tharbad which had begun to be rebuilt by a joint expedition of Rohan and the Reunited Kingdom. The bridge was rebuilt and thus they crossed and settled on the other side, finding some dry land among the fens.

Estelwen made her way through the camp to where the horses of her friends had been brought along. Picked up in Rohan, the horses had been led by Greymane back to Rohan. When the small company of Rohirrim joined the Gondorian army, the horses came along with them.

She watched the men devouring their meals, slurping unceremoniously at the broth. Estelwen wondered what their stories were. Who were they? Each man had a family, had friends.

 _They're going to fight for their lives because_ my _friend, my family, betrayed us._ She sighed. _What right do we have to ask that?_

"Estelwen," came a soft voice as a hand was placed on her shoulder.

She turned to see Elrohir behind her. He looked older than she'd ever seen him, worn from the trials and heartache of late. She felt bad for him. Tinneth had destroyed her parents' spirits.

"How are you doing, Uncle?" she asked with a small, encouraging smile.

He chuckled lightly. "I came to ask you the same thing. I know you've been having a hard time coming to terms with Tinneth's betrayal."

"How could you know that?" she murmured in surprise.

Elrohir had a knowing look on his face. But there was only sadness behind his grey eyes. Estelwen wanted to hug him.

"It's not hard to tell," he sighed. "Especially as I see the same expression in my beloved's face each day. And I'm sure Míril sees the same in me."

Estelwen stepped forward and flung her arms around her uncle. He gladly held her close, trying to refrain from crying himself as a few tears dropped down his niece's face.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's get back to our tents."

She agreed and followed Elrohir through the tents and campsites back to where her father and the others were. Estelwen stepped carefully around the many sleeping men, not wanting to wake them. When she caught sight of her father, she stopped and shot him a small smile, though little tears like glass filled her eyes to the brim. Aragorn opened his arms and she ran to him.

"My child," he smiled. "Someone has arrived who I would like you to meet."

"Arrived?" she asked, walking with her father into the tent. "Who would've arrived?"

As she entered the tent, she saw an elf in the corner, speaking with Míril and Elladan. Elrohir immediately joined his wife. The elf, blonde and blue eyed, turned to look at her.

"Greetings," he smiled, standing to bow. "I am Glorfindel."

"Lord Glorfindel," she said, her breath hitching in awe. "It is an honor."

"I have news from your children," he revealed to everyone present. "They told me of their suspicions of Lady Tinneth. I see it is now true. I have come to offer my assistance."

**Now - Annuminas**

"We have to prepare for the worst." Bergil sighed.

Aderthon, Eldarion, and Bergil stood around a table in the main house of Annuminas. On the table built of mahogany wood were maps, troop assignments, and lists of materials. They had 500 northern Dunédain rangers. Deployed across the region, they were stretched thin. The regular troops, numbering about 1,000, were in support of these as they knew the north less. They were usually in reserve.

"The worst?" asked Aderthon.

Bergil nodded. "In case Lord Aragorn has not gotten the message and has not sent troops."

"We cannot hold off the attack if the numbers you have given us are correct," Aderthon shook his head.

Bergil frowned and agreed with him. "We will be hard pressed. With only 1500 troops left, we are sorely undermanned."

Suddenly a knock came at the door. Bergil called for the newcomer to enter. The large wooden doors swung open and in strode a man, tall, with dark hair. He was covered in dirt and sweat. But he bore the uniform of the southern rangers.

"My Lords," he bowed deeply, panting. "I bring news from the South!"

Bergil, Aderthon, and Eldarion rushed to him. Aderthon guided the man to a chair. He gladly accepted the seat and slumped down.

"What news?" Eldarion asked quickly.

"My Prince," he nodded. "Your father is but a month away. He is bringing 7,000 men."

"Praise Elbereth!" Bergil murmured, walking away and raising his eyes.

"He sent me forward to deliver the news." The man looked at them hopefully. "Is there a bed or bath I could use?"

"You shall have both," Eldarion smiled. "You there!" He called to a guard. "Take this man to a guest house and see he is fed and a bath is drawn."

When the messenger had gone, Bergil and the two grandsons of Elrond turned to each other once again. Bergil looked more hopeful.

"That means we need to only hold the enemy off for a month." Bergil smiled. "This is good news indeed!"

"Can we do it?" Aderthon asked them. "Can we?"

Eldarion sighed. "We must."

Meanwhile, Círeth and Fëalas were out in the yard practicing their archery. A few northern Dunédain, recognizing their southern brethren, came over and joined them.

"You are the Ladies Círeth and Fëalas?" asked a young man, obviously a ranger in training.

"Indeed," smiled Fëalas. "We are captains of Ithilien."

"You're here to help us fight the traitor in the North, aren't you?" another young man asked her.

Fëalas and Círeth stiffened. But they nodded. They _were_ here to help stop their sister. She was deserving of death for her crimes. After all, she had murdered dozens of rangers.

"Tinneth killed my son," said an elderly man, walking over. "I hope she gets what she deserves. Will you give it to her?"

Fëalas hesitated but Círeth spoke immediately.

"Yes."


	41. The Battle Begins

**Now - Evendim**

"Stay low," hissed Círeth. "Circle 'round to the north and wait for my signal."

Círeth led a company of fifteen rangers to where a known encampment of goblins was located. They were deep in the pinewoods of Evendim, a slight coating of fresh snow on the ground and dead bracken everywhere. The goblins weren't far ahead. Círeth ordered several of her men to climb trees and remain trained on the enemy with their bows. She would join them shortly, she said.

Lighting one of her arrows she fired the flames straight into the middle of camp. The goblins roared as it easily spread with all the dead wood around. Mass pandemonium gripped the enemies.

That was the signal. Instantly the arrows flew down and met with many goblins. A few wargs howled and tried to find the rangers but by now, all of them had clambered into trees and were raining death down.

Not a single orc escaped that day.

Once back at Annuminas after over three weeks out in the wild spreading fear among the enemy, Círeth looked in wonder and glee at the army which had reached Annuminas not long before. She released her rangers to see their families and ran to the main house.

Evidently she was the last of the Fellowship to have returned to Annuminas because she found all of them in the main house. Alongside them were Míril, Elrohir, Elladan, Aragorn, Estelwen, Elden, and to her surprise, Glorfindel. She ran immediately to her father.

They embraced warmly, though Círeth could see the grief in his eyes. Next she went to her mother. Once all formalities were finished, Bergil turned to her.

"Was it successful?" He asked her.

Círeth nodded. "We destroyed four companies of orcs."

"Good," Aragorn smiled. "Very good news."

"So." Círeth paused. "What's the plan?"

Aragorn grimaced but nodded. "We assault Angmar in a week's time."

* * *

**Now - Carn Dûm**

"How many men?" Halion glared daggers at the goblin scout before his throne. "How many?!"

"Four hundred, sir," the goblin whined. "There were numerous raiding parties on our own."

Halion smashed his hand down on his throne. "That isn't good enough, Grishnog!"

The goblin cowered back. He looked hopefully at Tinneth who stood in her blood red dress beside Halion. But she looked down on him in disgust.

"Get out," she said slickly. "Before my beloved guts you."

The goblin nodded and ran from the room. His pitter pattering feet sounded down the hallway until he was gone. Halion, turning to his lover, sighed in pain.

"We'll have to mount our offensive now. My scouts already say the army of the Reunited Kingdom has arrived." He glared at the walls. "I have no doubt that your siblings are to blame for our problems."

Tinneth growled and clenched her fists. "They will die, _melda._ They will die horrible deaths."

Halion nodded and smiled devilishly. "You will give them death, _Aradheleth_."

"I shall live up to that name," Tinneth smiled. "I will be the Royal Terror. All on the battle field will fear Biter and Pincer. My twin blades will sing."

* * *

**One Week Later - Evendim**

It was evening, the day before the armies would engage. Míril and her husband were walking among the troops as they slept. The hooting of a distant owl, the crackle of campfires,. and the chirping of crickets were the only sounds around.

"What if she can be saved?" Miril frowned. "What if Tinneth is under a spell?"

Elrohir sighed. "My love, she is not."

Tears ran down Míril's face. She wanted with all her heart to hug Tinneth one more time, assure her daughter that they loved her. But she could not. Tomorrow they would face the Army of Angmar, which from scout reports was reportedly being led by Halion and Tinneth themselves. It was inevitable that one or the other, Tinneth or her friends and family, would be killed. It could end no other way.

Aderthon and Eldarion sat together on a large boulder. They were silent, enjoying the respite of each other's familiar presence. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the swords which sat close by. They stayed like that until morning.

The dawn came far too early. Aragorn was up with the sun, as were his commanders. He spoke to Bergil, Elden, Elladan, Elrohir, Míril, and Glorfindel, giving all of them their final orders. Within the hour they had moved out with their troops.

By noon, everyone was in place. And across the field, they could see the Angmarin army. Elrohir and Elladan were sent to meet in the middle. There, they met with Tinneth and Halion.

"We meet at last," Halion grinned. "Though I wish it would've been your king instead. Is he hiding behind the troops?"

"King Elessar was convinced by us to stay behind," Elladan growled. "For we do not trust your promise of parlay."

Tinneth glared at Elrohir. "We do not trust your kind either."

"Not long ago you _were_ my kind," Elrohir said softly. "Why did you forsake us?"

"Because I saw the error of your ways," Tinneth spat in his face. "And I was promised greater things than you could ever give me, including revenge."

"Can there be no peace, then?" Elladan asked, turning to Halion. "No hope?"

"There never was," Halion smirked. "I was stalling."

A great clamor arose from the left and Elladan and Elrohir spurred their steeds, sputtering elvish curses under their breaths. The battle had begun.

Reaching the line, Elladan and Elrohir gave their horses to others and instantly switched into fight mode. They worked in tandem before finally splitting to lead their warriors into battle.

The armies clashed. Míril went straight for Tinneth. She had to find her daughter. Aderthon, placed under her command, watched his mother in awe.

She wielded Galmegil with deadly precision. Every swing of the ancient sword of Fëanor's craftsmanship was effective. She cut down dozens of enemies like they were flies.

Then she saw _her._


	42. Thirst for Vengeance

**Sin so thick you can't see the stars  
Can't tell good an** **d evil apart**

**When it all goes up in flames** **(x4)**

**We'll be the last one's standing.**

**\- Up in Flames by Ruelle**

 

 

Míril ran to Tinneth. "Stop!"

The woman was caught of guard. She spun around, twin blade defending herself. Then she saw her mother. Without even hesitating, she engaged Míril.

"Why, Tinneth?" Míril cried in despair. "Why are you doing this?!"

The silver-haired woman merely smiled devilishly. She ran at her mother yet again, twin blades flying to and fro, left and right. Miril blocked each attack soundly but didn't press back. She couldn't. This was her daughter.

"Fight, coward," Tinneth hissed. "Where is the legendary skill I heard about all those years growing up? Where is the woman who was a hero of the War of the Ring? Or have you grown too soft in your life at Minas Tirith?"

Miril narrowed her eyes. "Do not taunt me, Tinneth. I am not fighting not because I am a coward. I choose not to fight because you are my daughter. I swore to Maglor I would never become a kinslayer, and I intend to keep that promise."

"Then I suppose you won't do anything if I choose to kill my siblings, or Father?" Tinneth taunted her with teeth barred. "Will you let them die? Will you sit back and watch me kill them one by one before I finish you?"

Miril growled something inaudible and her expression hardened. Immediately she began to fight back, pressuring her daughter. For a split second, Tinneth was worried. She saw in her mother's eyes the same anger in her own. Her mother was stronger and faster than she'd expected. With footwork, Miril managed to trip her. She was trapped between the ground and her mother now.

"Don't make me kill you," Miril frowned. "Please. We can fix this!"

Tinneth spat in her face. With a kick, she threw her mother to the ground and hopped up. Miril scurried back up and grabbed Galmegil, her sword. Tinneth readjusted her grips on her two blades and stalked forward, never breaking eye contact with her mother.

They clashed again, fiercer than ever. Mother and daughter, uncorrupted and corrupted. Miril shouted as she was caught in the arm but she fought back. She managed to graze Tinneth's leg. But Tinneth was ready with a counter attack.

She wrapped her blade around her mother's and sent it flying from her grasp. Miril looked in sadness upon the anger filled face of her silver-haired and youngest daughter.

"I failed you as a mother," Miril sobbed, falling to her knees. "I am so sorry. So sorry."

Tinneth smiled cruelly and used one of her swords to lift her mother's face to hers. "I want to see the fear in your eyes as you face death."

Miril's gaze never wavered. But Tinneth was caught off guard as someone bowled into her. Still her left sword managed to land a devastating blow to her mother's side.

"No!" Aderthon screamed as he stood away from Tinneth and looked in horror as the blood poured from his mother's side. Scarlet rivers of blood, seemingly never ending.

Tinneth scrambled up and faced her brother. She glared.

"Aderthon. How perfectly predictable." She came towards him and swung her swords at his face.

He blocked immediately and pushed back ferociously. At one point he might've tried to save his sister, but she had lost that when she tried to kill their mother. She was no longer worthy of pity in his eyes.

"Tinneth." He glared. "Consider what you are doing."

She paused for a moment and frowned before gleefully grinning. "It's been considered."

Aderthon swung at her and she fell back. He managed to land a deep blow to her leg and she fell to the ground. With a struggle she tried to stand. Just as she limped forward, an arrow pierced her back and she screamed in pain as her vision blurred.

Aderthon looked for the source and saw Círeth and Fëalas not far off, bows in hand and arrows on the strings. Círeth nodded. Her arrow had flown true. But Tinneth would not be stopped that easily.

She struggled once more to get up from her knees. With a guttural scream, she forced herself up.

"You will not win," she cried angrily. "Even if you kill me."

A second arrow, this time released by Fëalas, pierced her back yet again. Aderthon noted its silver shaft; Fëalas had let loose Pilinel, the Silver Arrow. Fëalas had finally used that sacred weapon.

Tinneth cried out and fell to her knees. The blood loss from her leg and her arrow wounds was too much. She could not get up again.

She laughed shortly. "Míril will die. I _will_ win."

Her brother took a moment to glance at his mother before turning back to his sister. He gritted his teeth angrily and raised his sword.

It was at that moment that he finally saw fear in her eyes as she whispered for her beloved. "Halion, _melda_ , please!"

Aderthon took his sword and plunged it deep into his youngest sister's chest from her neck down. As the blood spurted from her chest wound, he shielded his face. At last it was done. She was dead. But the battle was far from over.

Círeth and Fëalas ran over as Aderthon knelt beside their mother. Míril was silent, but the pain in her eyes was visible as she tried to halt the bleeding on her side. Her hands shook as she attempted to cover the wound, and quickly blood stained her hands scarlet. Aderthon ripped his cloak and tightly bound her wound without speaking.

"Ulmo, I'm sorry," Míril cried quietly, going into shock. "You were right."

"Go find Father," Aderthon ordered his sister, Círeth. To Fëalas he said, "Bring Estelwen here!"

When they didn't move he shouted. "Go!"

Círeth ran off to find Elrohir amidst the battle. Aderthon wondered what his mother was babbling about regarding Ulmo, the Lord of Waters. He knew she had communicated with him via her dreams multiple times during the quest in the South, but he was unaware of any recent interactions.

The sounds of mannish screams and goblin cries filled the air. Steel clanging as swords met and the twang of bow strings added to the clamour. Quickly the twin searched, before finally she caught sight of Elrohir, her father.

"Father!" Círeth cried as they came together where Elrohir stood surrounded by goblins.

He finished off the last of the orcs as she drew closer. He smiled and nodded at her before his face fell upon seeing her haunted expression.

"What is wrong?" he demanded quickly.

"Mother- she's been gravely injured." Círeth explained the situation as they ran back to where Aderthon was trying to comfort his mother and defend her.

When they arrived, Eldarion and Estelwen were both there, brought by Fëalas. Aderthon and Prince Eldarion defended her while Estelwen, the healer, knelt beside the injured half-elven lady. She used a cordial to lessen the pain, pouring it down Miril's throat. Elrohir gave a shout and skidded to a halt on his knees beside his beloved wife. He took her right hand in his own.

Aderthon backed away, his eyes red from fresh tears. He shook his head and turned to where Tinneth's body lay. He screamed in anger as he looked at it. It was a guttural, animalistic scream full of rage. He went to stab her dead body again but Eldarion held him back in a bear hug.

"Do not let your anger control you like what happened to Tinneth," he insisted with a whisper. "Your mother is not dead yet. Trust my own sister's healing skill."

Aderthon bit his lip but nodded. He tore his gaze from Tinneth's body and went back to the scene unfolding before him. Círeth had left to find the King and let him know what had happened, leaving Fëalas back to cover the ranged attackers by herself. Aderthon ran to fight a few approaching Angmarin soldiers, Eldarion at his side.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, Estelwen stood and nodded. "She should live, if all goes well. And if we can get her off the battlefield. I suggest that my father looks her over once all this is done."

Aderthon immediately picked up his unconscious mother and, with Eldarion, Elrohir, and Fëalas as defenders, took her from the field. They passed hundreds upon hundreds of broken and bleeding bodies of both Gondorian and Angmarin soldiers and rangers. Goblin corpses and Wargs were here and there as well.

When they at last got clear of the fighting and returned to camp, they found Aragorn and Elladan waiting for them, urgently pacing back and forth. When they saw the group coming, Aragorn shouted for them to quickly lay her on a wooden table that had once held maps and plans.

Aderthon gently put her down and Elrohir grabbed her hand again, wiping her brown hair from her face and whispering elvish words of comfort and healing. Beads of sweat lined her skin. Míril was slowly regaining consciousness, and with that came excruciating pain. She was having trouble getting full breaths because it hurt so much.

"Estelwen said she'd be alright," Aderthon said, his voice pleading with Aragorn.

The King ripped off the wrap his daughter had used, ordering Elladan and Elrohir to hold her still. He examined the work his daughter had done and nodded, his mouth a thin line of concentration.

"Estelwen has done all that can be done." Aragorn sighed and took clean bandages, rewrapping the oozing sword wound. "I can do no more."

"Will she be okay?" Aderthon demanded in desperation. "Say she will be okay!"

"Aderthon," Elrohir shook his head, "He cannot. None can. Her life rests in the hands of Illuvatar now. Growing angry will do nothing."

As Aderthon's face contorted in rage and despair, he looked away, back at the battle and allowed himself to scream as he fell to his knees.

"A thousand curses upon you, Tinneth!" He hissed quietly as he knelt there. "I loved you once. Now your name fills me with hatred."

He could hear his mother's moans as she convulsed in pain on the table and shivered from shock. He refused to look. Eldarion came and stood beside him, resting his left hand upon his best friend's shoulder. They watched the battle unfold before them. They watched as Tinneth's desire for revenge took shape. Death was abundant that day. And it was still not finished.


	43. Too Soon

Edeva swung her twin axes in front of her. She caught a warg in the face and buried one axe deep into the canine's skull. With that one dead, she whipped her head around to locate Elfwine. She spotted him going head to head with two goblins. His sword swung here and there. She thanked whatever gods were listening that day for the training he had received.

"Elfwine!" She called to him when he had cleared his foes. "Where is Greymane?"

"I saw him over there," her brother said, pointing left.

She nodded. "Come. You should fight atop him. You will be safer."

She took his hand, much to his annoyance, and dragged him where Elfwine had last seen Greymane. After several minutes of searching, they caught sight of the majestic beast. The powerful member of the Mearas was trampling all in his path and kicking wargs in the face. Elfwine leapt on top of him once there was an opening and began his fight on horseback. He was well skilled in mounted combat.

Edeva nodded, glad that was done. She turned back to the right just in time as a large sword came down on her. With her axes, she caught the blow and pushed back, knocking the opposing man off balance. She landed her own deadly blows.

She caught sight of Finduilas and Barahir nearby and ran to them. She let loose a throwing axe and it buried itself deep in the cranium of a huge Angmarin soldier. As she approached the corpse and retrieved the axe, Finduilas nodded her thanks.

"Good throw," she commented. "Where is your brother?"

"I sent him to join the mounted warriors with Greymane," responded Edeva. "He will be safer there."

Finduilas agreed. Together with Barahir they turned back to the fight. The man, their brother and cousin, was hewing his way through goblins easily. Despite his skinny stature, he was all muscle. He wielded his sword with deadly accuracy and strength.

"Any sign of the others?" Finduilas asked her cousin Edeva. "I have not seen anyone for a long while."

"Neither have I," Edeva shook her head.

The two women turned back to the fight as a large warg and orc pair sped towards them. Edeva and Finduilas stood their ground until the warg leapt, taking that moment to spin aside and land deep blows in the warg's flank. It died beneath their blades and sent the orc flying. Edeva finished him off with her throwing axe.

Edeva told Finduilas that she was going to find the others to hear whatever news she could gather. The brown haired woman sped off to find the Gondorian section of the army. When she reached it, she found Elboron fighting off several Angmarin soldiers. She raised her hand to throw her axe.

But an ugly black arrow pierced her hand and she screamed in pain, dropping the axe. Elboron, distracted by her cry, looked over to her as he killed his last attacker.

He screamed in horror. "Edeva!"

A second arrow pierced her, this time in the back behind her stomach. She fell to her knees in pain, one hand maimed beyond use by the arrow. Elboron ran towards her but it was much too late.

A sword swung and met with Edeva's neck. Her head rolled to the ground, her body falling forward lifelessly. The eldest child of Eomer and Lothiriel was lost, her body claimed by the mud.

"No!" Elboron roared in anger.

"Edeva!" came a distressed and horrified cry to his left.

Elfwine, riding Greymane proudly, had watched the entire ordeal in horror. His face was white as snow from the shock. Elboron realized he had to get Elfwine to safety. He had to get Elfwine away from the battle.

Elboron ran to the screaming teenager and leapt atop his horse behind him. For the first and only time, Greymane permitted someone besides his master to ride him.

Elboron spurred the stallion onward. They galloped hard back to base camp, Elfwine fighting Elboron the entire time. When at last they arrived, they found Eldarion and Aderthon speaking in hushed voices.

"Elboron, Elfwine!" Eldarion looked at them in surprise. "What is wrong?"

"She's dead," Elfwine screamed. "She can't be dead!"

"Edeva," murmured Elboron in explanation to the other men as he dismounted and pulled the teenage boy down after him.

"I need to go back," screamed Elfwine, punching Elboron, his cousin, and fighting hard to leave.

"Elfwine, stop!" Prince Eldarion said, grabbing him and restraining his arms. "Stop."

Elfwine did his best to stop thrashing after several more moments of panic. He turned to Eldarion, the person he had looked up to the most.

"She can't be dead," he whispered in distress.

Eldarion pulled the young man into a hug. He didn't let Elfwine move until he felt the boy settle down a little more. By now, Elfwine's screams had attracted the attention of Aragorn. He came over to see what the matter was. Elboron walked up to him.

"Edeva has fallen," he whispered to his king in explanation. "Killed in front of Elfwine."

Aragorn sighed in pain and rubbed his forehead. " _Elbereth Gilthoniel_."

Eldarion released the teenager. Elfwine met Aragorn's gaze and glared.

"This wasn't our war," he growled. "My sister died for _you._ Because of the betrayal of one of _your_ kinsmen."

"Elfwine," Elboron wanted sharply. "Lord Aragorn may not be your king, but he _is_ a king."

"It's alright," Aragorn shook his head. "Elfwine, you are not wrong. But your father and I are sworn to protect one another. He allowed you to journey North."

Elfwine stared angrily at the ground. It had been he who had begged to go North. His sister would not have gone if not for him. She was dead because of him.

"Yet your father also placed you under my protection." Aragorn shed a few tears. "And I failed him."

Estelwen came over and took Elfwine by the hand. She kissed his forehead and hugged him close.

"Come on, Elfwine. Let's get you some food and rest." She quietly led the teenager away from the men and towards the tent.

Once Elfwine was away, Aragorn turned to Elboron. "How did she die? Can we recover her body?"

"She was beheaded." Elboron closed his eyes in pain and he began to stumble slightly.

Eldarion and Aderthon caught him.

"Elboron, you are bleeding!" Aderthon gasped and scolded him as he took away his hand to find blood upon it.

Elboron shrugged. "Not too badly."

Aderthon and Eldarion forced him to sit upon a wooden chair as Aragorn looked him over.

"I will not lose another one of you put under my protection." The king frowned and lifted up Elboron's shirt to reveal a large cut.

"Why are you two here?" Elboron asked his friends as Aragorn took a good look at the cut.

Eldarion looked at Aderthon, and Elboron noted that Lord Aragorn had halted his inspection of the wound for a split second. Aderthon's face contorted between rage and fear.

"Lady Míril had been gravely injured," Eldarion explained. "And Tinneth is dead."

Elboron nodded. They remained silent for a long while as Aragorn treated the wound, cleaning and stitching the cut. He needed no other explanation.

Suddenly Elfwine rushed over, pushing away a healer as he scrambled over to the grown men. The four looked at him in concern.

"Elfwine?" Aragorn looked at him, a question on his heart. "What-?"

"She went after her!" Elfwine whined. "She went out there!"

"Who?" Eldarion asked. "Who went where?"

Elfwine frowned. "Estelwen. She went to find Edeva's body."


	44. The Little Trinket

Estelwen wasn't particularly known for her impulsiveness. While she was more impulsive and driven by emotion than either of her siblings, she usually kept herself under control. But seeing the horrified and tragic face of her friend Elfwine made her throw caution to the wind.

The screams and groans of dying men and women were all around her. She knew she couldn't save all of them. And anyways, she was on a mission. She would find Edeva's body and retrieve something, _anything_ , to comfort Elfwine.

She began drawing closer to the actual battle lines. The shouts of men and screeching of goblins was so loud that her blood was pounding. She knew she wasn't cut out for a real battle. That's why she was always escorted when leaving base camp.

Estelwen drew her two knives and turned in circles as she snuck past her people and the enemy. Occasionally she would have to stab a goblin here and there, but she was managing well enough.

She felt so afraid, though. Every fiber of her being knew she was in real and immediate danger. She saw nothing but death all around her. Suddenly she felt a warm, sticky hand grip her ankle and she nearly screamed.

"Help," mumbled the dying man as he released her from his bloody grip.

Estelwen frowned and nearly stopped. But she could not. She had to find Edeva.

With every step forward she felt her legs turning to jelly. They threatened to collapse from under her, but her adrenaline kept her going. She prayed to Illuvatar with every breath that she would find Edeva.

When she did find her, she nearly got sick. The dead, unseeing eyes of her friend were wide open but her head was no longer attached to her body. Estelwen knelt down beside what remained of the lady's body and took from her pocket the necklace she had always held. A momento from her aunt, Eowyn. A white horse.

Estelwen shed a few tears before she stood. Pocketing the necklace, the daughter of Aragorn turned back.

And was met with a sword in her stomach. It didn't hurt right away. Instead all she could focus on was the hate filled amber eyes of a man in black armor. She looked down in shock at the sword sticking out of her body. It was black as well, black as night.

That's when the pain rushed in. She looked at the man in confusion as she felt the blood pooling in her mouth. He smiled.

"Don't worry, king's child." Halion smirked. "Your friends will soon join you."

Estelwen fell face forward as the man removed his dark sword with a flourish. She died with her face in the ground, unable to breathe and quickly bleeding out.

Halion smiled down at her lifeless body. He was looking forward to telling Tinneth about the woman's undignified end.

Suddenly his magic sensed something was coming. Something… _dangerous._ He looked up to see and hear two riders. Both were dark haired and grey eyed. One resembled the dead princess.

"No!" Eldarion screamed as he dismounted and took his sister's body in his own, cradling it. "No!"

Aderthon dismounted after him, but focused instead on the man before them. He readied his sword and adjusted his grip.

"You will die a painful death," Aderthon told him.

Halion laughed. "I doubt it. I'm more powerful than _either_ of you."

Aderthon barred his teeth and swung his sword. The man blocked and retaliated with his own strike. Back and forth they went, Halion just slightly better than Aderthon. The black Numenorean had the advantage of freshness as he had not fought for most of the day. Aderthon on the other hand was tiring, and was driven by blind rage.

"Who are you?" Aderthon demanded, gasping for breath.

Halion smiled. "Halion, Red Hand of the North. Your doom."

Eldarion suddenly stood, shaking, sword in his hand. He looked so angry that even Aderthon took a step back as he walked forward. Their opponent grew unsure as he looked between the two men.

His undoing came by way of a golden haired elven lord. Glorfindel ran in, standing beside the noblemen, sword raised.

With a snarl, he reached into his pocket and slipped on a ring. He disappeared. He could not face all three.

"Coward!" Aderthon cried out.

Glorfindel grimaced. "Much evil has befallen us this day."

Eldarion had already turned and picked up his dead sister. He placed her on his horse before him and together they sped back to camp.

Aragorn fell to his knees in weariness and hopelessness as he saw the bloodied body of his youngest daughter. Tears streamed down his face as Eldarion laid her on the table and closed her glassy eyes.

Elboron's eyes filled with tears. Everyone loved Estelwen. She was the flower of the House of Telcontar. To see her dead was unbearable.

Elfwine stood there, gaping. He watched as Aragorn slumped down on his knees and buried his face in his hands. The prince of Rohan walked over to the king as if in a trance and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

They had both lost someone that day.

The battle lasted another couple hours. The forces of Gondor did prevail, but at great cost. The surviving Angmarin soldiers were rounded up and disarmed. Ordered to never take up arms again, they were released. There weren't many.

The goblins had fled the battle before the end, foreseeing the doom that would befall them if they stayed. Back, back to Gundabad they fled, their heads down and proverbial tails between their legs. The wargs followed them.

The death toll was in the tens of thousands that day. Four thousand at least of Gondor, North and South, had perished, and so did nigh on four thousand Angmarin soldiers. Too many goblins died to count. Aragorn ordered the body of Tinneth be found and brought to camp.

Miril was still too weak to do much but lay in place. In truth, Aragorn was unsure that she would survive the night. He asked Glorfindel to treat her. The body of Edeva was recovered and transported to camp where it was burned in ceremony. It was too mangled to transport back to Rohan.

At midnight, the body of Tinneth arrived. Aderthon was the one to approach it after all had retired to bed.

"How did this happen, little sister," he whispered, eyes watering from anger and sadness. "How did this happen?"

"The spirit of fire burned too hot within her," said a voice behind him.

He turned and looked at his father, whose cheeks were wet with fresh tears . He glared at the ground then. Finally, as his father came and stood next to him, he spoke again.

"Father," he began, "why was mother muttering about Lord Ulmo?"

Elrohir sighed and looked away before replying. "Your mother conversed often with the Lord of Waters when we journey south, as you know. But it continued off and on when we returned home."

"Go on," prompted Aderthon after a pause.

His father frowned. "At one point, during Miril's pregnancy with Tinneth, we visited Dol Amroth. It was a favorite spot for your mother."

Aderthon smiled. It was.

"While there, she received a warning from Ulmo. He told her that the child within her womb was destined to bring about chaos. That the fire within her burned like it had in Fëanor." Elrohir closed his eyes. "He told us we would need to be careful when raising her. Obviously, we failed."

Aderthon sighed. He laid his hand for a last time upon his dead sister's chest. At last, he retired to bed, leaving Elrohir to stand vigil over the dead woman.

"Forgive me, my child," he whispered hoarsely, his voice rough from held back tears.

Elrohir laid his hand upon his daughter's broken chest and let his tears run freely. Tinneth may have betrayed them all, but she was still his daughter. And he loved her.

" _Goheno nin, guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham_ ," Elrohir said with tears streaming down his face. _Forgive me, my heart shall weep till next we meet._

He pushed a strand of her silver hair from her quiet, lifeless face. He tucked it behind her ear.

"Míril is asking for you, brother," came a small voice behind him.

Elrohir nodded and rubbed his eyes to clear his tears. He turned to find Elladan frowning in pity. After a moment of staring, they embraced warmly, clutching each other for comfort.

"I thought finding Mother was the hardest moment of my life," Elrohir confessed. "It was not."

His brother clutched him tight and nodded softly. "You did all you could, brother."

"It wasn't enough," he murmured through his silent tears. "It wasn't enough."


	45. No More

**Two Weeks Later - Gundabad**

" _You promised us you would cripple the kingdom."_

" _He also promised us an heiress of Fëanor. Now she's dead."_

Halion slammed his hand down on his chair as the voices of the Council filled his mind. He looked down at the ring on his finger. The red gem was glowing as it acted as a conduit for the other Council members.

"I sorely underestimated the power the children of the heroes hold," Halion grimaced, pacing in the small room he'd taken in Gundabad.

" _You failed, Halion."_

" _The Council is revoking your membership."_

" _You have nowhere to run, Halion."_

" _Accept your fate."_

Halion growled and kicked his bed. "You cannot do this! I have another plan!"

" _What plan could you have that could possibly save your life?"_

Halion smirked. "Beruthiel."

" _The Council has forbidden that course of action!"_

" _You will_ not _perform the ritual."_

Halion glared. "I will do as I see fit."

* * *

**Three Months Later - Gondor**

"Look," smiled Eldarion as he pointed ahead of him. "The White Tower!"

Everyone felt relieved. They had dropped off the Rohirrim on their way home, Aragorn expressing his deepest regrets at the loss of Edeva. Éomer had taken it hard, as any father would, but it did not damage the relations between the two kingdoms, much to their relief.

Aderthon nodded with a small smile. "It will be good to be home. Perhaps my mother will be able to heal."

By the end of the day, what remained of the army had reached Minas Tirith. As Aderthon, Eldarion, and Elboron walked up the white streets that night, all were hurting.

Míril had been hurting emotionally and physically ever since her injury from the Battle of Arnor. Elrohir did his best to comfort his wife, but the loss of her youngest daughter took a harsh toll on her psyche.

As the year went by, and she did not improve, a decision was made that would impact the entire kingdom.


	46. Departure

**Three Years Later**

Cirdan had prepared the ship for them long ago. It had waited for them until the day Míril decided to leave. And that day had come.

Aderthon, Círeth, and Fëalas rode behind the carriage solemnly. Their white horses, newly given to them by King Elessar, trailed behind at a walk. Today was the day, and even the horses were mournful.

For today, their parents were leaving Middle Earth forever. Míril and Elrohir together would sail over the sea and reunite with Elrond, Celebrian, Galadriel, and Gandalf. They would at last see the beauty of Valinor, a place they had been told of all their lives. A place of incredible beauty and peace and healing. For that's what they needed.

It was three years since the Battle for Arnor. Míril had healed from her wounds physically, for the most part. But emotionally? She was broken. The betrayal and death of her youngest daughter, Tinneth, had destroyed her spirit. She was in desperate need of healing.

"What do you think Valinor is like, Aderthon?" Fëalas asked him quietly as they rode behind the carriage. "Do you think it is really as wonderful as the stories?"

Aderthon sighed. "I hope so, Fëalas. For Mother's sake."

They grew quiet again. Aderthon noted that Círeth, sitting strangely silent upon her horse, had tears streaming down her face. He turned away to give her privacy. She did not like when people saw her crying. Especially not her siblings.

When they arrived at last at the Grey Havens, it was with heavy hearts that they all dismounted. Aderthon wished not for the first time that Eldarion had journeyed with them. But he knew that in order for Lord Aragorn to come, they had to leave Eldarion to rule for the time being. Yet he missed the steadfast comfort of his best friend.

The royal escort opened the door of the carriage and Aragorn, Arwen, and Elrohir stepped out. Míril came last, dressed in her finest dress. She frowned.

"Míril," came a small voice. "You were going to leave without saying goodbye?"

Everyone turned to find two hobbits atop horses nearby with Cirdan, Elladan, and another elf, Lord Glorfindel. Míril smiled softly as they dismounted, walking towards them.

"Pippin, Merry!" She hugged them tightly. "I had hoped you would come."

"Do you have to leave?" Pippin asked as he sniffled back tears.

Míril frowned at them. "I am afraid so. It is time."

Merry nodded with tears in his eyes. "You won't forget us?"

She smiled lightly. "Forget you? Never."

Together they walked back to the others. Elladan had joined his brother and sister. He had decided to cross the sea as well, desiring in his heart to see his mother again at last more than anything. But it meant saying farewell to their sister. All three children of Elrond were in tears.

Miril, Pippin, and Merry walked over to a solemn Aragorn. Immediately, Miril broke down and flung herself into the arms of her foster uncle.

"I do not wish to lose you," she sobbed. "I wish there was another way!"

Aragorn held her tight, resting his chin on her head. "There is no other way. You made your choice long ago."

She cried into his chest and shoulder. All the pain she had stored up over the last year since the decision to finally leave had been made was welling up to the surface.

Her children stood silently watching, thinking. What were they going to say to their mother? It was not a final goodbye, for all three were allowed to make the choice of Eldar or Edain, but none had chosen _yet._ So perhaps it _would_ be the last time they saw their precious mother, and their father.

"Do you have it?" Aragorn asked her quietly as she finally drew back a little. "You brought it?"

"Indeed." Míril gestured to a bag that Elrohir held.

Aragorn nodded. "Good. It belongs in Valinor again."

Pippin and Merry started tearing up again as Míril bent down and gave a kiss on the head to each.

"You are forever in my heart, my friends. Forever and always." She tried to smile. "I give you free access to our house in Minas Tirith, Pippin. You shall live there alongside Aderthon once you move in."

Pippin nodded. He was honored.

"And Merry." She sadly smiled. "Take this."

She pulled a small dried white rose from a delicate bag and placed it in his hand. He looked at her in confusion.

"This flower is from the day I was married. I hope it will remind you of the joyful times we had." She felt tears stinging her eyes again and she wiped them with the back of her hand.

Merry closed his hand around the stem. "I will never need a reminder, though I welcome it."

With a final hug, she turned at last to her children. All three were openly crying now and she smiled to encourage them.

"My dear, dear children." She took their hands in hers. "I will not say 'do not weep' for not all tears are an evil."

Fëalas leapt forward and embraced her mother with sobs. "Do not go!"

Miril felt her heart breaking. "Fëalas, love. Always so kind and gentle and loyal. You know that I must."

The twin inhaled deeply, still shaking from her cries. "I know."

"Círeth," Míril smiled despite the tears running down both hers and her daughter's faces. "Círeth. You are so strong and fierce. Please never lose that."

Círeth stepped forward and embraced her mother. She felt the tears stinging her eyes and let them flow freely.

"Never. I shall do my best." Círeth stepped back and took her twin sister's hand in hers.

At last, Míril came to her son.

"Aderthon," Míril embraced the man. "Aderthon my fearless boy. Look after your sisters, and look after your cousins, especially Eldarion. Gondor needs you."

Aderthon closed his eyes and nodded, biting his lip. "I shall not fail you."

"I know," she smiled back, cupping his face with her right hand. "You are so strong."

Aderthon reached down and took Círeth's free hand. Miril cried as she stepped back from them. At last Elrohir joined them.

"My children," he said with tears in his eyes. "We will see each other again, someday. Maybe not until the world ends, but we will meet again."

They all nodded. This they knew and this was their hope. That someday they would meet again. Either in Valinor, or after the Dagor Dagorath, the end of the world.

"Support one another, and support Aragorn. He will need help I am sure." Elrohir was trying very hard to keep from crying.

He broke when his children rushed him and gave him a hug. Once more they were three and eight years old, and he was the greatest protector of their small, simple lives.

Miril left to say goodbye to Aragorn once more. He was saying farewell to Elladan when she walked over, her face and eyes red from crying.

"Please," she cried again softly. "Watch over my children."

Aragorn smiled softly at her. "With my life. They are family to me, you know."

"I will never see them marry and have kids," she sobbed.

Elladan grabbed his sister and pulled her into a tight hug. "Shh. Little one. You know we must leave if you are to be healed."

Miril nodded as Aragorn rubbed her back and she squeezed her brother-in-law tightly before releasing him and backing up.

"As usual, you are right Elladan," she nodded.

"It is time." Cirdan sighed, gesturing to the swan ship.

Míril kissed them each once more. Elladan and Elrohir said an elvish farewell to their sister before joining Míril on the crossover.

"Namarië!" Míril cried as she stepped onto the ship's deck. "Namarië!"

They all waved and cried the elvish word for farewell back to her. Aragorn was standing with her children, comforting them though she knew that he too needed comfort. Next went Elladan and Elrohir, before Glorfindel stepped on at last. For it was time he left Middle Earth as well.

Cirdan nodded for Glorfindel to cast off and slowly the swan ship took them from the shore. Miril looked back longingly at her children, at Aragorn and Arwen, and at Merry and Pippin. But finally, she turned away from Middle Earth for the last time to watch as her ship sailed towards the horizon. The grey sea of twilight twinkled and the waves were like a soft music. After an hour of watching the horizon, she lay down on a cot to rest.

When she awoke, there was a bright flash like a blue light and then, on the far horizon, an island. The pale moon high in the sky illuminated the tall, white tower that sprung up from the hills on the land.

She jumped up and joined the twin sons of Elrond at the prow of the boat. In her hands she held the Lyre of Maglor. As Aragorn had said back in Middle Earth, it belonged in Valinor.

Glorfindel smiled softly from where he stood steering.

"Tol Eressëa," he said to them. "That is our destination. We dock at the Havens of Avallónë."

As they silently watched the beautiful white-shining city grow closer, Míril heard the all-too-familiar voice of Ulmo, Lord of Waters. Loud and clear it sounded now, no longer faint from the sundering of the worlds. It told her one thing.

" _Welcome home, Míril Fëanoriel."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miril will next appear in the Third Installment: Exploring Westernesse


	47. The Legacy of Feanoriel

The journey home to Gondor took about two months. Everyone felt the distinct hole in the company with the absence of Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir. The sun seemed to shine a little more coldly, the rain seemed a little heavier. Aderthon was taking it the hardest. Círeth and Fëalas, while grieving, had each other to lean on. Aragorn and Arwen were together. But Aderthon was alone, and he stayed that way.

He missed his mother more than anything. He missed his father of course, and his uncle, but he had always had a special relationship with Míril whereas the twins had been closer to Elrohir. Aderthon missed her dearly, every moment of every day that they journeyed home to Minas Tirith.

He missed her smile and her laugh. He missed the way she looked upon him with absolute trust and love. He had been her first born, he was special to her. And now she was gone. Now he was the protector of their family. He had a responsibility to his cousin and his sisters.

When they reached home, Aderthon was greeted solemnly by his greatest friend, Eldarion. The prince merely hugged him tight, neither speaking. Together they moved to return to the house Aderthon had lived in with his mother and father while the Twins continued south to their homes in Ithilien where they intended to throw themselves back into their work.

On the doorstep of the empty house, Aderthon insisted he would be fine. He told Eldarion to leave him be. Eldarion protested. Giving in, the half elf agreed to let Eldarion check on him in an hour or so.

"I want to be alone for now," he added. "Come by later."

Eldarion reluctantly agreed and left Aderthon with a nod and a pat on the shoulder. Leaving his friend at the doorstep of his house, the prince left to see to his parents.

With a deep breath he walked forward, opening the door. As he made his way through the foyer of the house, he heard the whispers of laughter and joy that had once filled it. The years seemed to fall heavy on his shoulders as he continued into the sitting room.

Above the fireplace now was empty wall. No longer did the ever present lyre of Maglor hang there. His mother had taken it over the sea. Now the beige wall seemed broken and empty without it. It was so… bare.

Suddenly he noticed on the table a note, sealed with the seal of the House of Fëanoriel. Intrigued, Aderthon bent down and picked it up, using his small pocket knife to undo the wax seal. He slid out the piece of paper where he found a note.

" _My dearest Aderthon,_

" _My special child, you know how much I love you. Long ago I received a gift from Lady Galadriel, a gift I have held close to my heart for nigh on forty years ago. It has been by my side through many a year. And now I leave it for you. I have left it in my room. Farewell, my child."_

In confusion, Aderthon pocketed the note and went to his parents' room. Carefully he took the knob in his hand and turned it, opening the door. What he saw amazed him.

For lying on the bed, next to its black and gem covered scabbard, was Galmegil. The beautiful mithril-hilted sword sparkled in the dying light of day that filter in through the window. He walked forward slowly, reverently. His mother had _left_ Galmegil. Míril had entrusted that great sword to him. It was a shock.

Sure, Elrohir had given both the twins each a blade of his. But this was Galmegil. His mother had never parted with it. Now it was his. But even more so it represented to him that his mother had really left. It was very real to him now. He hesitated to place his hands on it but soon he gave in.

His fingers felt the light yet sturdy mithril hilt gently, running down its undulating side. He allowed himself to grab it slowly before sweeping it suddenly up and looking at himself in the reflection of the sharpened steel.

 _Galmegil._ The "Sword of Light" was magnificent. A true symbol of what the House of Fëanor should have been. Pure, strong, and a pillar of hope. It had never been tainted. And now it was his.

Now it was a symbol of his own House of Fëanoriel. He would continue the legacy of Galmegil, the legacy of Míril Fëanoriel here in Middle Earth. Yes, she was gone now. But she had left behind more than a sword.

She left behind her children.


	48. Epilogue: Where Are They Now

Through all the tragedy of the years following the Battle of Arnor, a single spark of hope had brightened Gondor. Arwen gave birth to a third daughter, Sídhil, a year after the departure of the children of Elrond. By the age of nine, she had a formidable track record of causing trouble. Her family blamed it on her favorite cousin, Aderthon, who at the age of 49 was still eagerly causing trouble himself alongside his brother in arms, Eldarion.

Amdirien had grown to be the greatest diplomat and a wonderful Councilwoman of Gondor. Her skills with words was unparalleled.

Finduilas, receiving permission to forgo her position as a ranger of the south for Gondor, had moved to Rohan in order to assist Elfwine and his parents with the death of Edeva. Quickly accepted by the Rohirrim, she was working her way up in the ranks there.

Elboron was also a councilman on the Council of Gondor by this Year 50 of the Fourth Age. He remained an integral part of Elessar's advisors and now lived in Minas Tirith full time.

His brother Barahir became the captain of Ithilien's guards. He was still skinny, no matter how much he tried to put on weight, but he was a very skilled fighter.

Elfwine, now a grown man aged thirty-one, was second in command of Rohan's forces, under only his father Éomer. Not a day went by when he didn't miss his older sister, but he eventually learned to cope and even thrive.

Círeth and Fëalas, ever vigilant on the borders with Harad and Rhûn, were still renowned as the Captains of the Southern Dunédain. Círeth maintained her post in Northern Gondor, now extended all the way to Southern Mirkwood, and she watched Rhûn. Fëalas remained in Ithilien.

As captains of Gondor's army, Aderthon and Eldarion kept very busy. Both had lost sisters, and this only brought them closer together. They were like brothers. And like brothers, they pampered Sídhil.

"Aderthon!" Sídhil cried happily as her cousin came into the citadel where she was playing. "You're late!"

"Sorry," he laughed. "I was working!"

Sídhil ran over and gave him a big hug. She looked around and past him, trying to find her brother. But she didn't see him.

With a frown, she continued. "Where's Eldarion?"

Aderthon ruffled her hair. "He'll be here soon. Your father wanted a word with him."

Sídhil, whose name means peace, nodded vigorously. "Are we going to see the Houses of Healing today? You promised you would take me there to see it!"

"Didn't you go last week with your mother?" he asked in confusion. "I thought you'd want to see something a bit more exciting."

Her eyes grew wide. "Like what?"

Aderthon smirked. "Just have to wait until Eldarion gets here, I guess."

She glared at him and went to punch him in the stomach. Aderthon jumped back with a laugh and shook his head. But before too long, Eldarion arrived.

"Training grounds, then?" he asked with a grin. "You look like you need to get some energy out, Sídhil."

Her face brightened at the thought and immediately she ran up the stairs to her room. Retrieving her small sword balanced just for her, she ran back down the stairs and straight out the door, accompanied by the laughter of her brother and cousin.

"So, what did your father want?" asked Aderthon as he and his cousin walked slower after their young charge.

Eldarion sighed. "Apparently the Council have brought up concerns that none of us are married yet."

"So the usual?" Aderthon sighed. "Nothing new there."

"Except that now they want something done about it." Eldarion shook his head. "Apparently emissaries from Rhûn, Harad, Rohan, Dunland, and Nurn are sending female suitors here."

Aderthon looked at him in obvious surprise. "Really?"

"Since none of us have chosen out of love, they desire political marriages to strengthen Gondor." Eldarion sighed. "It makes sense."

What neither of them realized was just how dangerous this was going to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End of Return to the North.
> 
> The Children will next appear in the Fourth Installment: Dreams of Power.
> 
>  
> 
> THANK YOU to J.R.R. Tolkein for his wonderful world.


End file.
